


Once Upon A Ring

by Stelmariana



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Because I shoot them on sight, F/M, Friendship, no mary-sues, repeatedly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 100,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stelmariana/pseuds/Stelmariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma, Mary-Margaret, David, Hook, Regina and Gold end up in Middle-Earth after they take the portal. Together, they must face their new adventures there and play their parts in the War of the Ring. But they still have to find Henry, and all the evidence points to the fact that Greg, Tamara and Henry are there as well...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where in Middle-Earth...?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My little sister who loves this fandom as much as I do.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+little+sister+who+loves+this+fandom+as+much+as+I+do.).



> 　　Hello! I bet when you read the summary of this story, you just went "Whoa, this sounds weird! Ha! I bet the author's been high on caffeine and chocolate lately, and their imagination is currently as runny as The Leaky Cauldron's namesake." Actually... You'd be partly right. My imagination does tend to run wild at the slightest excuse for it, and I usually am also quite... indulgent, shall we say, when it comes to chocolate and coffee.  
> 　　But please bear with me. I despise works which depict totally unlikely relations and surroundings, especially when writers are entirely incapable of either completing or making sense of their story. However, although this particular idea seems a bit (alright, a lot) far-fetched, I have given it a great deal of thought, and my brain just went "Why not? They're going to another world anyway, so why couldn't I just make it a different one?". I solemnly swear I will do my best to make everything as clear and as plausible as possible.  
> 　　If you decide to read this, please keep in mind that I am basing this idea on the fact that no-one from Storybrooke or any other lands in OUAT have heard about The Lord of The Rings. They have no idea what it is, so everything that happens is completely unexpected to them.  
> 　　Any faults with this theory will either be made clear in the story or could be pointed out to me in a PM, which I will try to fix as best as I can. Both my little sister and I are gathering ideas and dialogues for this fic, and we are both quite excited about it (though mostly me).  
> 　　I have read many, many works in which characters have been introduced into the journeys of LOTR, and it has been an all-time favourite of mine. I have read most excellent works, notably the "Chance Encounter" series by TelcontarRulz, and "Pirates of The Ring" by Aelaer. They are my absolute favourites, and I worship the people who wrote them (I even have the stories in text docs on my Kindle!). I highly recommend that you read them if you like that kind of story; I mostly got my inspiration from them.  
> 　　Enough of me prattling, on with the story!  
> 　　So, here goes, and I hope with all my heart that you enjoy it! REMEMBER: if you do like it, please comment! A fire needs fuel to burn!

Prologue:

 

Emma grabbed on to the boom behind Hook and held on tightly. She kept her eyes locked onto the blue-green maelstrom that was going to take them to her son. In front of her, Hook was furiously steering the ship, guiding it towards the mass of swirling waters.

 

"So who are we up against?" David yelled, "Who are Greg and Tamara?"

 

"They're merely pawns," answered Gold, gripping the rigging as tightly as he could manage. "Manipulated by forces far greater than they can conceive. They have no idea who they're truly working for!"

 

Emma looked at him incredulously; he knew who they were working for?

 

"And who's that?" she shouted.

 

"Someone we all should fear." Gold shouted in response - somewhat unhelpfully. Thanks for the detail, she thought wryly.

 

They rushed on, the Jolly Roger treading across the waves like a knife. The portal was growing closer and closer to them, and Emma welcomed it. She willed it to get close faster, so she could get to her son as quickly as possible before those anti-magic bastards did anything to him.

 

Only one question was revolving around in her mind, and it seemed to act like a magnet and create all sorts of other questions along with it; why did they want Henry? Couldn't they have just destroyed magic here and been done with it? Why take her son as well? Wasn't murdering Neal enough?

 

Emma didn't have any answers, but she sure as hell would get some soon. And when she did, Henry's abductors would wish they had never been born.

 

Suddenly, the portal was right in front of them. The passengers aboard braced themselves and clung on for dear life. The Jolly Roger raced forward, climbing to the peak of a particularly high wave - the last ridge, the last obstacle between Emma and her son - and thundered into the vortex of magic and water.

 

Then, the ship, along with its passengers, disappeared in a flash.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1 - Where in Middle-Earth...?

 

 

 

Emma stirred and groaned, keeping her eyes closed. Coming to must be the most unpleasant experience on earth, she thought. She brought a hand up to her head, which was threatening to explode, to check for bumps and cuts. None. So far, so good. Now, how about sitting up?

 

She did so, and in the process spat out a foul-tasting leaf that had decided to settle on her mouth. Wait, she thought, a leaf ?

 

On a ship? How was that possible?

 

This time, she opened her eyes - and saw green. Just green. There were leaves everywhere. Oak, by the look of them. She looked around, bewildered. The Jolly Roger seemed to be wreathed in leaves and branches - some were broken and splintered, as thought something massive had charged through them. Ah, yes - the ship

 

Why the hell was the ship in a tree?

 

Tentatively, Emma got to her feet - not an easy feat, as it happened, seeing as the deck seemed to be slanting at a thirty degree angle - and shakily took a couple of steps, gripping the boom above her. Her head collided with a particularly leafy branch, and she batted it away. Emma immediately regretted her action,though, as the sudden move made her head swim and her eyes lose focus. Not to mention the pounding throb that had developed between her eyes had drastically increased. She was having difficulty breathing too, as though oxygen had been partly sucked out from the air around her. Maybe the air was too close and stuffy up in these branches.

 

She gently shook her head, trying to clear it and to gather her bearings. Her thoughts immediately went to her son; Henry! Where was he? Had they arrived in Neverland? Were Greg and Tamara close by?

 

Clutching her head, Emma looked around and tried to spot the others. She could see Hook's boots jutting out from behind the steering wheel, and Regina was sprawled onto the quarter deck, her soaking hair plastered about her face. This reminded Emma that she was dripping wet as well, and she tried to shrug her coat off as gently as possible, so as to avoid her head falling to pieces. The weather was warm here, and sunlight was filtering through the branches, casting a merry green-and-gold light around her.

 

Speaking of Gold, where was he? And her parents, come to that.

 

Emma stumbled her way over to the hatch, brushing aside branches and wiping dead leaves off her face, clothes, and hair. When she reached the hatch, she breathed a sigh of relief; both David and Margaret were there, spread-eagled across each other - unconscious, but looking otherwise unharmed. Emma also spotted Gold, who had begun to stir as well. She reached him just as he was opening his eyes.

 

"Gold? You all right?"

 

He looked at her, the same bewilderment on his face Emma knew her own was surely showing.

 

"I will be in a moment, I think." he sat up, and reached for his cane, which had rolled a few feet away. "Miss Swan, I- unless my eyes are deceiving me, we appear to be in some sort of tree. Am I correct?"

 

"Yeah, I think so. I guess the portal system hasn't heard of the term 'safe-landing'."

 

"Indeed. It's quite strange; portals usually land travelers on the same medium they had been on the other side. It seems this one is an exception to the rule."

 

He got up, and like Emma nearly slipped and fell over on the slanting deck. He grabbed the shrouds just in time to straighten himself.

 

Emma went over to her parents, and tried to lift Mary-Margaret off David, without much success. Her head was still throbbing, and she was as tired as though she'd run ten miles. The salt caking her skin wasn't helping either. Finally, she managed to roll her friend (she still hadn't gotten used to calling her 'Mom') over on her back. Mary-Margaret was breathing evenly, and seemed to be gaining consciousness as well. Her eyelids were fluttering, and soon she was opening them. She blinked in confusion as to all the green around her, but then she focused on her daughter's face, and her face split into a wide smile.

 

"Emma," she breathed, "you're all right!"

 

Emma smiled back faintly. " 'Course I am. What about you? Are you hurt?"

 

"No - I'm fine, I think. My head feels like it's going to burst though. Where's David? Is he OK?"

 

"He's right here, and he looks fine. Hasn't woken up yet, though."

 

Mary-Margaret sat up, and put a hand down to steady herself. "That portal was something of a rough ride, huh?" she muttered. Emma nodded in agreement. She wouldn't forget the pain in her head in a hurry.

 

"Has everyone else woken up?" asked her mother.

 

Emma shook her head. "No. You, Gold and I are the only ones. Hook and Regina are still down; they're up on the quarter deck. I haven't checked how they were yet."

 

"Let's go see, then."

 

Emma helped Mary-Margaret to her feet, and after having shifted David into a more comfortable position, they made their way together to the others on the upper deck. Mary-Margaret went to see if Regina needed any help, and Emma approached Hook, who was lying exactly where he'd been when she'd first woken up. With difficulty, she lifted a heavy branch off him, and cast it aside. Hook was breathing faintly, and he had no visible wound about him, but his exceedingly pale face made Emma worry slightly. She watched him for a moment, waiting for the tell-tale signs that he was waking up. But then watched pots don't boil, and apparently watched pirates don't wake up either.

 

Emma knelt down and took his pulse under his jaw, and found it to be strong and pounding. She also noticed his hand clutching his ribs, and she felt slightly relieved. He probably didn't have any serious injury, but the rough journey through the portal had most likely taken its toll on his recently-damaged ribs, and the pain it caused him probably accounted for the paleness of his face.

 

She removed the other branches that were covering him, and tried to shift him into a position that didn't make him look as though he'd been run over by a car - again.

 

"Couldn't resist touching, eh lass?" said a raspy voice.

 

Emma started and looked up. He'd opened his eyes and was watching her, faintly amused, although his features were tight and his smirk strained with pain. She sighed and rolled her eyes. Hasn't changed then, she thought.

 

"Stay still." she said firmly when he tried to sit up, wincing in pain. "Your ribs have probably woken up after that little underwater expedition, and moving around will only make them worse."

 

"Aye, aye, Captain." he quipped, a smirk forming on his face again. "Wouldn't want to cross the Lady Swan. Oh, wait. I just did."

 

Emma didn't bother to respond, and instead shot him a dark look. She got to her feet again and turned to see how Mary-Margaret and Regina were getting on.

 

Regina was sitting up with her back against the railing, a hand cradling her head, and looking as though she'd been through the Gobi desert. Salt was crusting on her clothes, and her lips were cracked and dry. Mary-Margaret was beside her, a hand on Regina's shoulder, murmuring things that seemed to have no effect on the former queen whatsoever. As Regina looked up, she spotted Emma.

 

"Hello, Miss Swan. I see you survived the passage. Any trace of our son and his captors?"

 

Emma shook her head, her mind once again turning to the torturous thoughts that had threatened to take over her mind since she’d woken up.

 

"We're all still on the ship, which seems to have landed in a tree - don't ask why, I don't know - and there hasn't been the slightest sign of life around here yet. Apart from the tree, that is. And... It looks like we're stuck here until further notice.” she explained with a wince. “Or... until you or Gold can conjure up something that could lead us all down to safety. The ship looks like it's about to keel over."

 

It seemed Regina had come up with the same conclusion, because she stood up, and tried to steady herself using the ship's rigging as support. Mary-Margaret helped her up, and, much to Emma's surprise, Regina didn't reject her. Mary-Margaret then went back over to her husband, who was now also gaining consciousness. Emma and Regina followed her, hanging on to the ropes above them to prevent themselves from tumbling off the precariously-balanced ship.

 

When they finally arrived - Emma dizzy with her headache and Regina looking like her legs were made of cotton - David had woken up, and was busy protesting to Mary-Margaret who was fussing over him like a mare over her new-born foal.

 

"I'm fine Snow. A little shaky round the edges, but I can stand by myself. What can a prince do if not walk un-aided?"

 

"Oh, I don't know," replied Gold smoothly, "perhaps stand un-aided?"

 

The prince shot him a filthy look and opened his mouth to retort, but Snow cut him off.

 

"Emma, where's Hook?"

 

"He's near the steering wheel - lying down, if he knows what's good for him. His ribs likely got damaged again when we went through all the rough-and-tumble of that blasted portal. He won't be getting up anytime soon."

 

Snow nodded, and turned to Gold.

 

"Any ideas about our situation, Mr Gold?"

 

"Especially about the fact that we seem to be perched at the very top of a large tree." inserted Regina testily. "I don't recall ever having heard of a portal landing people where they didn't take off from."

 

Emma looked around at that, only now realizing just how large this tree had to be to host the whole of the ship. This must be one hell of a tree, she thought. Probably the size of the sheriff station, without even including the trunk!

 

Gold just shrugged. "There are exceptions to every rule. Long has man tried to categorize everything that crosses his path, and yet never succeeded."

 

Emma looked up sharply. Her superpower, as Henry liked to call it, had picked up a scent. Gold wasn't telling them the truth - or at least not the whole of it, was her guess. She looked at him closely, but his face revealed nothing, and she resolved to confront him about this later.

 

"Sorry to interrupt this cozy little chat, but now that we're all actually on our feet, perhaps we could get to figuring out how to get my ship down?"

 

Everyone turned to see Hook leaning against the mast, looking quite at ease, except he still had a hand to his ribs.

 

Emma frowned. "I thought I told you to stay lying down." she said.

 

"Ah, but love, lying down is so much more fun when in the company of, say...a beautiful woman. Quite like yourself, in fact."

 

Regina raised her eyebrows, Mary-Margaret shook her head and David growled "Watch it, Hook-", but Emma just smiled.

 

"It wouldn't be if I'd been the one to get you there first by knocking you out. Remember lake Nostos, Hook? I'm quite prepared to do it again, cracked ribs or not."

 

Infuriatingly, Hook just chuckled. "Anytime, darling."

 

This time, Emma glared at him, and probably would have punched the annoying smirk off his face as well, had Mary-Margaret not interfered and suggested that they stopped bantering and started to find their way down. "The sooner we can get down, the sooner we can get to Henry." she added to persuade Emma.

 

"Excellent idea, dearie," said Gold in a bored voice, "what do you suggest?"

 

Snow looked at him with the regal expression she and her husband wore sometimes without knowing it.

 

"I was going to ask if you or Regina could use magic to let us down - something like a ladder, or a levitating spell, or even just teleport us to the ground." she said coolly. "But what you said just now leads me to believe that it would be silly to do so. The question is, though: why?"

 

Gold chuckled softly. "Straight to the point, as usual. Seems to run in the bloodline, doesn't it?" The Charming family glared at him, and he went on. "But you are quite correct. It is impossible for me - and, I dare say, our dearly beloved Queen," he nodded to Regina, who was looking uncomfortable, "to summon up even the flimsiest of rope ladders at the moment."

 

"Why?" asked Emma sharply. How could this happen? Did this mean they had lost the only advantage they had over Greg and Tamara - magic?

 

Gold glanced at Regina. "I take it you didn't tell them?"

 

Emma rounded on the woman beside her, worry and anger distorting her features and voice.

 

"Tell us what, Regina?!" she nearly shouted. "My son - oh, heck - our son is out there, with his captors, and every moment lost is another for them to get away!"

 

Regina had resumed her look of uncaring coldness. "Miss Swan, I assure you that my mind resides every second of every minute on the fate of my son; panicking will hardly do us any good in our quest to find him. As for what I didn't tell you, I barely had the chance to." She removed her scarf and coat (it really was quite warm up here) and sat down on the hatch. "When I woke up after the portal, I immediately sensed a tightening in my body, in my mind. Like I was being deprived of breathing in the required amount of air. Miss Swan, I know you must have felt it too, and so has Rumplestiltskin. It's because of magic. It's different here, I'm not even sure if it's present."

 

Emma exchanged a look with her parents. This did not sound good. Emma recalled the tightening in her chest and the difficulty she'd had to breathe earlier. Maybe it could account for the splitting headache that was raging on in her head as well.

 

"Different, as in - it doesn't exist?"

 

Regina shook her head. "As I said. I'm not sure. It's like... I can't get hold of it, and I can't make it do what I want - Not that I tried." she added quickly when Emma looked suspicious. "I can feel it. Can't you?"

 

Emma, taken off-guard by the sudden question, didn't know how to react. Then, she remembered what Gold had said about magic; It's about emotion. You have to feel it. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her love for Henry, on how desperate she was to find him. Her mind reached out for those immaterial threads of power that had always been on the edges of her mind since the curse had been broken. Her mind, however, only sensed emptiness, and something...wild, untameable. And old...so old. She opened her eyes, startled.

 

"Yeah," she breathed, "it's strange. Almost unfamiliar - like we've never used it before."

 

Both Gold and Regina nodded solemnly.

 

"I've never been to Neverland before, and so I couldn't predict this sudden change in plans. It seems we will just have to improvise." Gold said. Emma once again detected a lie: Gold had come to Neverland before. She frowned at he dark wizard, determined to find out why he was keeping things from them - things that could potentially help them on this... what? Mission? Quest? Operation?

 

Operation Henry, Emma thought, a slight smile suddenly playing on her mouth.

 

David, who'd been watching the exchange between the trio of magicians with concern, suddenly clapped his hands and rubbed them together, with the forced air of someone who wanted to change the subject and lighten the mood.

 

"We make it up as we go along, then? My favourite kind of plan." he said briskly, ducking under a few branches and the mast to reach the railing of the ship. "It's quite high up from the ground, but there are lots of branches to let us climb down."

 

At this, Hook visibly bristled.

 

"What are you saying, mate? That we're about to leave my ship on top of this infernal tree?"

 

Charming sighed and turned to him. "Unless you can find a way of lowering it down, Hook, then yes. And I am not your 'mate'." He started to pick up stray ropes - they'd all been uncoiled and scattered about during the passage - and gathering them together. "But keep this in mind: this is a tree. Oak, actually. It's highly unlikely for it to be anywhere near the sea. So once you get it down, how are you going to set it afloat again?"

 

Hook narrowed his eyes at him, and made his way to the railing as well, still clutching his ribs. He looked over the edge, and groaned.

 

"The prince has a point." he declared to the others. "It looks like she's well and truly stuck up here. And we're nowhere near the sea; Neverland has few trees as high and large as this one, none of which are so much as close to water."

 

Emma looked at him disbelievingly. "You know the exact location of every oak tree in Neverland?"

 

He shrugged.

 

"It's not a very big island, love. And when you spend more than three hundred years around it, you soon get to know it pretty well."

 

"So how are we going to get down?" asked Emma, in a voice that she hoped could pass as level and calm. Regina's comment on panic had made her admit to herself, albeit reluctantly, that the queen was right: it wasn't going to help them find Henry. She resolved to show only strength and determination from now on.

 

"With this." David said unexpectedly. He lifted up a tangle of ropes to show them. "We'll tie them into a harness, and lower ourselves one-by-one to the ground once we get to the lowest branch - which is still quite high off the ground."

 

He started knotting the ropes together, and soon Emma and Mary-Margaret were helping him complete the task.

 

"This is how I made the net; the one that captured you the second time we met, Snow. Remember?" he said, grinning at his wife.

 

Mary-Margaret smiled, fondly recalling the moment.

 

"You mean the time you threatened to leave me literally hanging inside a trap ten feet up in the air unless I gave you the ring back?” she said ironically. “Yeah, I remember. No wonder I christened you 'Charming'. It's a good thing for me you don't hoist me up every time you want something now."

 

"Depends what for, princess." interjected Hook, winking at her.

 

Emma's jaw dropped open and Regina sighed in exasperation, but Mary-Margaret ignored him - although she vented her feelings on the knot she was tying. David visibly tried to contain his fury at the pirate being overly suggestive to his wife, and did so by handling a rope so roughly that several threads ruptured and left the rope close to useless. Tried and failed, apparently.

 

"You're awfully chipper for a guy who's with people he considered enemies two days ago, with his archenemy close by, all of us aboard your ship - who's currently stuck in a tree - and is about to leave her behind." Emma piped up.

 

Hook shrugged, still smirking, though the mention of his stuck ship seemed to have sobered him down a bit. "That's me, love. Always the optimist."

 

"Yeah, and annoying." retorted Emma.

 

"And a pirate." cut in Mary-Margaret

 

"And-" started Regina, but was cut off by David.

 

"The point being, Hook, is that we're about to leave this boat up here, so I suggest that you start saying your goodbyes now." he said firmly, his hands still in the mass of rope in front of him.

 

"Ship."

 

"What?"

 

"She's a ship, not a boat." Hook muttered, climbing up to the steering wheel.

 

 

 

O0o0o0o0o0o0O

 

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, the harness was ready, and the six travelers were getting ready to leave the ship. David offered his hand to Mary-Margaret as she climbed over the railing. She took it with a smile, and they clambered over one after the other. Gold managed to get himself over the railing un-aided, although David halfheartedly asked him if he would need any help - which, to nobody's surprise, he refused. Regina climbed over the railing as regally as possible - by sitting on it and gracefully swinging both legs over, her coat and scarf neatly folded over one arm.

 

Emma was about to follow suite, but then turned around to see what Hook was getting up to. She opened her mouth to tell him to hurry the hell up, but closed it again when she saw him. He was passing his hand over the polished-by-the-years wood of the wheel, the boom, the mast. His eyes roamed around, as though trying to memorize every inch of his ship. Though of course, he already had.

 

Emma's gaze softened slightly as she saw the sorrow on his face as he was forced to leave his long-time companion.

 

"Hey," she said quietly, "You'll see her again, Hook. It's not as though we're stuck here forever. We'll figure something out, you'll see."

 

He turned to her, then resumed his final look-over the ship. "We've been through a lot, this ship and I. She's the only lass that never left me."

 

Emma rose an eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. "From what I've gathered, you were the one leaving them."

 

"Aye," Hook said with a small grin, "I suppose that's true. Doesn't mean this one's the same, though." With that, he gave the ship a final sweeping look, and he walked to the railing, where the others were waiting for them. He waited for Emma, and held out his hand to help her over.

 

Emma rolled her eyes. "The gentleman thing again. Right?"

 

Hook smiled at her devilishly.

 

"My dear Swan, however did you guess?"

 

Emma shook her head, but took his hand nevertheless and climbed over. Hook followed her, and they climbed down a few branches to reach the others, who were already on the lowest branch of the tree. Emma suspected Gold had given in to David's offer to help, as some branches were quite difficult to get past, even for her.

 

When they reached the small group on a very large branch that split into a 'V', David explained the harness system to them. They would lower someone down, preferably someone with plenty of strength and fully able ("Someone like you, then." said Hook, with a hint of sarcasm. He was ignored), who would then act as leverage for the next person by keeping a hold on the rope while they were being lowered down by the others. The rope would be passed over one branch for safety, and each person who reached the ground would help the others hold the rope for the next person being lowered down.

 

Gradually, the group managed to lower everybody to the ground, without too many mishaps (that is, not counting Hook slipping and falling to the ground the last few feet, or Mary-Margaret tumbling off and landing into David's arms, the latter of whom let go of the rope in surprise).

 

When everybody had picked themselves off the ground and brushed grass and dust off their clothes, they were finally available to look around them for the first time. What they saw was this:

 

Green. Green everywhere. Not just trees, but wide, rolling hills too. Meadows, fields, fens, woods... Just grass and trees all over the place. They were on the edge of what appeared to be a wood of oaks, on the top of a small hill, with the tree hosting the Jolly Roger behind them. In the distance, they could make out golden patches of wheat, fields of corn, even some sheep and pigs in a few large meadows.

 

Emma stared at all this, and felt like a stone had dropped through her stomach. Doubt gnawed at her mind, the clouds of uncertainty and desperation, maintained somewhat under control up till now, threatening to invade her being again. She stared and stared at the scenic countryside in front of her. She felt the same shock and disbelief that kept her companions tongue-tied stop her own from functioning properly.

 

She turned to Hook, who was standing beside her.

 

"I thought... - I thought Neverland... was a small island.” she managed, carefully keeping her tone as neutral as possible. “You know, with sea around it. And that it only had... Lost Boys, mermaids and Indians on it...."

 

Hook turned to her, his face blank, but his eyes showing the same confusion and doubt everyone else was feeling.

 

"Oh, Neverland has much more than that, love. It has beasts as well. And fairies, pixies, normal animals... And pirates." he said in much the same tone.

 

Emma said nothing, but glanced at the others. They were staring at Hook as well now, and looking like they wanted an explanation.

 

Hook turned back to staring at the hills in front of them.

 

"Aye. That's what Neverland is like." he said. "But this isn't it."

 

Emma felt the heavy drop of dread and fear again. No... It couldn't be true... They had to be in Neverland. What had happened? Where was Henry?

 

"How?" She asked sharply, no longer caring if her voice trembled. "How is this possible? Hook, you said we would get to Neverland through the portal. How can you be sure this isn't it?"

 

Hooked looked back at her again, annoyed.

 

"How can I be sure?" he repeated. "I know the island, Swan. It doesn't have anything like this anywhere. The most open space you get around Neverland is the sea - of saltwater, not this bloody green stuff."

 

Silence.

 

"So... we're not in Neverland, then?" asked Mary-Margaret quietly, her tone suggesting she already knew what the answer would be.

 

Hook squinted at the horizon, not looking any more bothered than if he'd discovered a cockroach on his pillow. "It wouldn't seem so." he replied.

 

Emma took a deep breath, and made her voice as steady and firm as she could.

 

"Then where... the Hell... are we?" she asked, gritting her teeth.

 

Hook smiled faintly.

 

"That, love, is an excellent question. And the answer to which is I'd like to say your hair looks particularly lovely today; did you do something to it?"

 

Emma glared at him. If looks could kill, Hook would be six feet underground and seriously regretting it.

 

"You mean to tell me," she said in a quiet but dangerous tone, "that not only are we not in Neverland, but we don't know where we actually are, my son's captors are getting away every second we tarry, and we have no idea where they could be?"

 

Hook grimaced.

 

"Only three out of four, love. We do actually know where Henry's yeasty codpieces of kidnappers are: in Neverland." he pointed out.

 

"Theoretically." he added as an afterthought.

 

Emma was visibly getting closer to shrieking her head off at the infuriating pirate, and her parents noticed it too. Snow gently placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder and pulled her away, talking to her quickly and quietly. David, however, went up to Hook.

 

"How did this happen?" he asked the pirate on a level tone.

 

Hook shrugged.

 

"Honestly, mate - sorry, Your Majesteriority - I haven't the faintest whiff of a sardine's breath as to how we came here." he said nonchalantly. "But, I suggest that you explore all theories before you kill me -" he added quickly, seeing David was getting ready to punch him. "I'm sure the Crocodile will have something under his skin that might just serve as an explanation." he added, his tone suddenly going darker at the mention of his archenemy, even if he'd brought it up himself.

 

Gold looked up at the mention of his name. Up till then, he had studiously been ignoring Hook - the latter likewise - and only spoken once or twice. The others had almost forgotten he was there.

 

Gold sighed.

 

"He's right - for once" he said. Hook glowered at him. "I do have a...theory as to how we came here. But I doubt anyone here will like it."

 

Emma, whom Snow had managed to calm down a little, raised her eyebrows at Gold expectantly.

 

"It doesn't matter whether we like it or not, Gold. Just say it! I want to know how to get to my son." cut in Regina, looking frustrated.

 

Rumplestiltskin smiled dryly. "Very well, dearie; I shall."

 

"You remember, I imagine, that blasted diamond that almost killed us all?"

 

The others nodded. How could they forget?

 

"It seems that tampering with such a large and functional magical masterpiece that is Storybrooke - created by our powerful Queen - " he nodded to Regina, "had a grave impact on magic around it. You see, all worlds - with and without magic - are parallel; never quite touching, never interfering, but nevertheless present. The exceptions to the lack of interference and contact between them are portals, created by the beans among other methods. In between worlds, where time and space do not exist, resides magic. Pure, unadulterated magic. The only reason magical worlds have magic in them is because it somehow found a way to leak into them from this limbo. That's why magical realms can be reached from other magical worlds: there already is a path between them - the one that magic took to get there." He paused, looking unusually solemn and sincere. "But the diamond - being so powerful an artifact - used a lot of magic, and in doing so disturbed the layers of it between that world and all the others. I believe the diamond acted like a magnet: its purpose was to destroy magic, to make it vanish. To do so, I believe it sucked out all of the magic around it, including from outside this world. Such a disturbance would have altered the paths set up between all the realms - both magical and non-magical. We, much to our surprise and displeasure, seem to have taken one of these usurped passages and landed in a world where quite possibly no-one has ever been magically transported to before."

 

He fell silent, and still his companions stared at him.

 

Emma suddenly remembered something: this was what she had sensed Gold had been lying about, earlier up in the tree.

 

"How long have you known about this?" she asked him quietly. She would know if he lied.

 

Gold looked at her, faintly amused.

 

"About an hour, Miss Swan. From the minute I gained consciousness, in fact. Like I said: it is only a theory. But I must say I don't see what else could have caused this."

 

Emma looked at him levelly, her subconscious telling her he was telling the truth. She nodded, and suddenly found there was nothing she wanted to say.

 

Regina found something, though. She looked as though salvation had come upon her, and her eyes were shining with hope again.

 

"Does this mean there's a chance Greg, Tamara and Henry came through too?"

 

Everyone turned to her, incredulous. Yet, Emma, realized slowly, that would make sense. Greg and that vicious murderess had actually left a bit earlier than they had, so there was every chance they had landed here. She saw the others' eyes widen as well, as they came to the same conclusion.

 

"The worlds," Emma said urgently, looking at Gold. "Once they'd been moved because of that diamond, do they continue to move around?"

 

Gold looked surprised, then thoughtful as he understood what Emma was hoping for.

 

"Why, no, Miss Swan. I believe they don't. It takes an enormous amount of magic to just shift them, let alone keep them rotating continuously."

 

Emma stared.

 

"Then they should be here, too" she breathed, a wide smile splitting her face. "they have to be!"

 

She looked up at her parents, who were grinning as well. Regina was smiling too, and even Hook didn't look as uncaring as usual.

 

Regina's smile was the first to fade.

 

"But we're still stuck in a world we've never heard of. And it still doesn't tell us how we're going to get him back." she pointed out.

 

Emma straightened herself up and faced her companions directly, her eyes as hard and determined as steel.

 

"Oh, we will." she assured her quietly and dangerously. "I promise you we will. I meant what I said earlier: I'd track them to Hell if I have to. And I will."

 

With that, she turned her back on them and started making her way down the hill. The others glanced at each other, shrugged, and followed; What else could they do but start searching?


	2. A Party of Some Significance

As the motley group of rescuers tramped down the hill, the sun lowered itself over the pretty little hills around them, and the light faded to a smooth and peaceful glow.

Smooth and peaceful, however, was exactly the opposite of what Emma was feeling at the moment. Her stomach churned at the thought of her son; where was he? What had Greg and Tamara done to him? Was he even with them? He was a resourceful kid, Emma thought proudly. Maybe he'd managed to escape. The tiny little glimmer of hope that flared brightly within her at that thought was almost immediately extinguished. The more rational part of her, the part that had been hardened and beaten by the trials of her past was catching up with her thoughts. Don't get your hopes up; don't risk being disappointed, not again...

Eventually, they reached the bottom of the hill, and they made their way over a couple of hedges (Gold still stubbornly refusing any help) to a little river running east.

Emma, unsure of where to go next, looked to her parents (she was almost ashamed to think it, she had always managed on her own) for guidance. Mary-Margaret smiled and nodded at her reassuringly.

"If we follow the course of the river, we're bound to come across some sort of civilization soon." she said.

The others, who had heard of her experience as an outcast and of her survival in the woods, didn't argue. They all nodded and made to continue walking. All, except Regina. She stopped dead in her tracks and raised a skeptic eyebrow.

"Civilization? Why would we want to find other people here? Wouldn't we be better off by ourselves and not attract attention? And what makes you think this area is even inhabited?"

Mary-Margaret looked at her almost pityingly.

"Regina, if we find other people, we can ask them if they've seen Greg and Tamara and Henry. We have no food, and very few weapons - we need some." she said patiently.

"And as for how we know there are people here," added David, "these hills are clearly fields, limited by hedges shaped by people. There are also tracks that weren't made by animals."

Regina nodded curtly. And although her face remained expressionless, Emma sensed that she was embarrassed by her lack of knowledge of such things. She surprised everyone including herself by speaking up for the former queen.

"Regina has a point." she mused, "We don't want to attract too much attention to ourselves: we'd make it easier for Greg and Tamara to find us - or at least know where we are."

Hook nodded. "We should be careful about what we reveal. Maybe also only appear in twos or threes. Stay inconspicuous."

"Oh, that should be easy," Gold said dryly. "Six total strangers, no doubt dressed strangely, one of them a one-handed pirate, and all of them talking about magic. Should fit right in."

Hook threw him possibly the dirtiest look that could exist, but said nothing, though his hook was twitching longingly.

Sensing the tension, Emma quickly intervened.

"All right," she said sharply, "all right, girls, calm down. We're all in this together, remember? Let's just...let's just do what Mary-Margaret said and follow the river, okay? If we meet anyone, we can work out what to do when the time comes."

With that matter settled, the strange group of allies set off again, heading for the woods the river ran through.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Hook cursed as a branch hit him, unawares, for the umpteenth time. They were still walking in the forest, which had steadily grown darker as the hours dragged by. He batted it away irritably, and marched up to Emma, who was leading the way.

"Lass, how long is this going to last? We've been walking for at least four hours, and unless you haven't noticed, night has fallen."

Emma barely spared him a glance.

"Yes, so I can see for myself." she said dryly.

"D'you think we could perhaps consider a rest?"

"Rest?" she said absently.

"Yes, lass. Rest."

"Why?"

Hook tripped in disbelief.

"Why? Because we're all tired, that's bloody well why!"

"I don't hear anyone else complaining."

Hook sighed in exasperation.

"Look behind you, princess."

Emma, albeit reluctantly, did so. She saw a stumbling Snow grey with exhaustion, whom David was guiding through the mass of brambles and roots that covered the ground, although he also had lines of strain at the corners of his mouth. Behind them, clutching at trees, stumbled Gold. The hand that held his cane was trembling, and he was visibly drained as well. Regina was walking closely behind him, and although her face was determinedly expressionless, Emma could see she was pretty tired too. Finally, Emma looked at Hook, and she noticed the paleness of his face and the way he was still holding his ribs. Admittedly, Emma was feeling the many miles they had trekked starting to take over her own body, too.

She hesitated; the longer they tarried, the further Henry could be getting away from them. But then they were all visibly exhausted, and they didn't even know where Henry was anyway...

Emma sank down onto a root, holding her head in her hands, which was still throbbing slightly. Snow sat down nearby and put an arm around her, resting her head on her daughter's shoulder. Everyone else settled down onto the leafy ground, so exhausted and so grateful for rest that no-one bothered to complain to Emma how long she had kept them walking for. They all rested in silence, savouring the blessed feeling of stretching their legs on soft ground. Then -

"Is it just me, or is there music playing somewhere?" asked David.

Emma looked up, as did all the others. She strained her ears...and...yes...that certainly sounded like music! It was faint, but she could definitely hear something now that someone had mentioned it.

Tiredness and sore limbs suddenly forgotten, they got up as one and followed the sound of the music. It was still quite faint, and they had to walk for ten minutes before they could even make out what kind of music it was. As it turned out, it sounded like fiddles and flutes, accompanied by clapping, and it was getting louder by the second. They walked on feverishly, eager to at last see someone in this new world. All thoughts of discretion and reserve gone now, guided as they were by their hunger, tiredness, and natural instinct of human contact.

Suddenly, they burst out of the woods, and found themselves on the edge of a large clearing, and - from what they could see in the dark - amid lots of little hills. They stopped dead in their tracks. In the centre of the clearing stood a large tree, from which hung hundreds of little lights, and around the tree was what appeared to be a party of some significance. Dozens of canvas tents were scattered around the tree, and a large grassy area was covered with dancing people. There were a couple of bangs, and suddenly a shower of red and gold sparks shot up into the sky. The music they had heard came from a group of people that were playing on the edge of the dancing area.

Predictably, Hook was the first to react.

"Excellent, a party!" he said, rubbing his hands in anticipation, "I could do with some ale, right now. Or rum. Rum's good."

And without further ado he strode down the hill, not even sparing a glance at his companions, who were gawking at him as though he'd gone mad.

Emma and David charged after him.

"Hook!" Emma hissed, "Wait up! What do you think you're doing? We can't just join in the party, what on earth are we supposed to say if someone asks?"

Hook shrugged. "Don't see why not. Looks like there are so many people there they won't notice a few more anyway. Besides, I want my rum."

Emma was so busy gaping at the unbelievable pirate that she forgot to continue running after him. David joined her a couple of seconds later.

"I don't believe him," she said in a strangled voice, "I don't. Believe. Him."

By now, the others had caught up with them as well. All were looking rather wistful as they stared at the party - there was sure to be plenty of food and drink there. And some seats.

Snow approached her daughter cautiously.

"Emma," she said gently, "why is it such a bad idea to go and see? We could go and speak to them, ask them if they've seen Greg and Tamara or Henry. Maybe Hook is right, maybe we could just mingle with the people. The best thing we can do is to make contact with them."

Emma was wringing her hands, hesitating. Her desire to find her son as soon as possible was battling with her instinct that told her to stay unseen and as discrete as possible.

"I know," she said miserably, "but I just wish Hook wasn't so...rash."

"We'd find Henry so much sooner if we planned everything carefully instead of just rushing into things and making them up as we go along." said Regina, frowning and shifting her legs irritably (her feet really did quite hurt a lot). "I suggest we make Hook understand that as soon as possible, or we could find ourselves in trouble sooner than we should."

David grinned.

"To be honest, all I want to do right now is get down there and grab something to eat." he said.

Emma smiled and Snow laughed. Regina and Gold remained impassive, but they couldn't entirely hide their eagerness for food either.

Agreed, they descended the hill together and joined Hook, who was already at the bottom of the hill.

They found him stock-still and staring bemusedly at the lively party before them.

The others stared as well, because the party was full of children. Every person they could see was three foot nine at the most, and they could see no adults whatsoever.

"A children's party?" asked Hook in disbelief to nobody in particular. "No chance of getting rum from a gang of runny-nosed squirts." he muttered crossly. He turned to his companions. "Decided to join me, then? Not quite like the festivities of taverns or Tortuga, I can tell you. I say we better find the grown-ups soon, eh? That way we can get information quickly. And rum."

Emma was still looking at the children. Something about them seemed slightly odd. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was definitely amiss. Some of them seemed to walk and run quite stooped...

"Well, we can always ask the kids where the adults are." she reasoned aloud. "You stay here while I go talk to one."

She approached the nearest child, tapped him on the shoulder, then leaped back as she saw he had the face of an old man. His face was covered with wrinkles and a considerably annoyed expression. His curly hair was - now that she close enough to see clearly - black streaked with silver and white all over.

"Yes?" he asked abruptly, "What is it? Hurry up, I want to get some ale before those greedy Bracegirdles drink it all."

Emma was still reeling from the surprise from seeing an old man who was smaller than her son bu a head.

"S...Sorry" she stammered, "Wrong person. I...sorry. Go ahead."

The strange little creature scurried off, muttering. "Bothered for nothing...Big Folk these days... I ask you..."

As he hurried off, they could see he had abnormally large and hairy feet; larger, in fact, than any grown man's, and pointed ears that peeked out of his masses of curly hair.

Emma turned to her parents, who were looking just as startled as she felt.

"What...Who...What was th-" she began to ask, but was cut off as what felt like a small cannonball knocked her over. She tumbled to the ground, wriggling, trying to get the attacker off her person, but found another strange little dwarf - this one significantly younger - staring back at her.

He scrambled off her, dusting his doublet (that was another strange thing; all the little people seemed to be dressed in some kind of middle-age fashion) and spluttering apologies.

"Begging your pardon, Miss" he said, though not looking at her. He was busy looking around him, as though scared of someone catching him. "Didn't see you there... Wasn't looking... My fault entirely... Sorry..."

Emma groaned in response. Snow helped her up, struggling to keep a straight face. When she was reassured that her daughter wouldn't suffer any permanent damage, she turned back to the little dwarf, who by now had noticed their strange appearance and superior height, and was staring at them curiously.

Before Snow could speak, however, he was off again.

"Oh, are you Big folk? Haven't seen any in the Shire for many years. Of course the only Big person around here's Gandalf. You wouldn't be friends of his, would you? He's marvelous, he is. Amazing fireworks, like magic - but then of course he can do magic, he's a wizard, and - Merry, there you are, come on!" the last bit he had addressed to another curly-haired creature, who was hurrying towards them, carrying a large red package.

"Did you have any cake?" he asked, talking to Emma. Before she could answer, however, he was off again. "I had some. It was that big strawberry cake, with lots of cream on it. Wonderful stuff, you should try it."

The other little creature had caught up with his friend and interrupted him.

"Pippin! Come on, then, help me with this thing before Gandalf sees us!" he hissed. Only then did he notice Emma and her entourage. He looked as taken aback as Emma had during her first encounter with one of his kind.

Unlike Emma however, he recovered quickly.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, "Big Folk are you? What are you doing in the Shire, then? I heard most of your kind keep themselves to themselves. Are you friends with Gandalf?"

This was the second time that question had been fired at her in as many minutes, and Emma was steadily getting more annoyed and confused.

"No," she said shortly, still dusting her hands on her jeans, "We're not. Who is this...Gandalf, anyway? And... Look I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but what exactly are you? A dwarf?" she blurted out, unable to restrain herself any longer.

The second creature grinned, not at all offended.

"I'm a hobbit. My name's Meriadoc Brandybuck, and this is my cousin, Peregrin Took. But everyone calls us Merry and Pippin."

He held out a hand; quite a difficult task, as he needed both hands to hold the massive red parcel he was carrying. Finally, he compromised by thrusting it in his cousin's arms, and Emma shook his hand, feeling awkward (he was the height of a five-year-old child for God's sake!).

"I'm Emma... Emma Swan. This is Mary-Margaret, and David."

"And I'm Regina, this is Hook, and here's Gold." interjected the queen, who was approaching the little group with the two arch-enemies behind her.

Emma rounded on her. "What are you doing?"

"Thought we'd come and join the conversation, love." Hook said brightly. "Bushes and crocodiles hardly make good conversationalists, you know."

Emma rolled her eyes and turned back to the hobbit.

"We're... We're not exactly from here, could you tell us...?"

Merry chuckled.

"Oh, I can see you're not from here, all right. The nearest village of men is Bree, and that's a few days' journey away. Anyway, this is the Shire, and you're in Hobbiton, the main town."

Emma blinked. None of that information sounded familiar. But then they were in a different world after all.

"Okay. Um... Thanks. And...er, what...world is this?" she asked uncertainly. She immediately regretted her choice of words. Who on earth asked what world they were in? (Ah, but then they weren't on earth, were they?)

The hobbit looked surprised.

"World?" he repeated, looking puzzled, "Well, Middle-Earth, I suppose. But how did you not know that?" he asked, frowning.

Emma forced a smile.

"Like I said: we're...ah...not from here. And we came here rather...er...unexpectedly."

Merry still looked a bit suspicious, so Mary-Margaret quickly changed the subject.

"Did you mention somebody who was a wizard?"

Merry and Pippin immediately focused on her instead.

"Gandalf? Yes, he's a wizard." answered Pippin, his voice slightly muffled by the parcel. "He's the tall person all in grey, over there. Long beard, pointy hat, big staff."

"Perhaps you should talk to him." said Merry. "He knows all about Middle-Earth. Maybe he can tell you all you need to know."

The six strangers looked over to where he was pointing. Indeed, they now saw the first normal-sized person they had seen yet in Middle-Earth. A very tall, very thin, very old man was standing in the centre of a mass of children, who were squealing at a shower of gold sparks he had just set off. To their surprise and somewhat to their alarm though, he seemed to sense their gaze, and looked over to them. He caught Emma's eye. She immediately had the impression of going through an X-ray, so piercing was his gaze.

He started to stride over to them, and their new hobbit acquaintances jumped in alarm.

"Well, we'll be off, then. Nice meeting you all!" Merry called behind his shoulder as they hurried off, awkwardly carrying the parcel between both of them.

As the man ("- wizard - Gandalf -- whatever" thought Emma) approached, the little group looked at each other nervously, silently asking the other what to do or say.

Gandalf glanced at the retreating hobbits, at Emma's dusty clothes, and finally at the strangers themselves. He took in their different apparel, their tired faces, and Hook's namesake. Hook remained stoic, although in truth the old man's gaze felt unnatural to him.

"I'm sorry for the disturbance." said David diplomatically, his royal training kicking in. "My name is David Nolan. This is Mary-Margaret, my wife, and Emma Swan, Regina Mills, Gold, and..." he stopped, unsure whether to give Hook's real name or his alias.

Hook had no such dilemma.

"Captain Hook. At your service." he said with a slight bow and a smirk.

David was busy rolling his eyes at Hook, so Emma spoke in his stead before Gandalf could notice.

"We truly apologize for intruding on this party, but we really didn't mean to arrive here. We just needed to find someone as soon as possible."

She then proceeded to tell him their story, omitting all the magic from it, and the disasters in Storybrooke, making it sound as though Henry had been kidnapped from another world into this one, and they had followed suite in Hook's ship, hoping to catch up and find him. She also left out the fact that she and Regina sort of shared Henry.

If Gandalf found this story strange, he showed no sign of it. In fact, he was staring at Emma as she told their story, and didn't seem to notice the nervous glances her companions shot at each other at her deliberate omissions.

When she had finished, his gaze shifted to each of her companions in turn, resting the longest on Gold, then on Hook. Both men held his gaze evenly, though Hook was secretly relieved when the old man looked away.

"I sense no deceit in your tale, though you do not tell all." Gandalf said plainly, looking once more at Emma. "Your strange attires and your manner of speech, however, are proof enough. And I must say I have never seen or heard the like; yet I believe to have travelled across this world more so than any other. Where did you say you departed from, milady?"

Slightly taken aback by being addressed to as 'milady', it was a moment before Emma answered. Feeling Hook's smirk behind her, she hurriedly told him. "North America, Maine. Storybrooke," she clarified.

Gandalf looked thoughtful.

"Hmmm..." he mused, tapping his pipe against his teeth. "I have heard of neither. But it is quite clear that you are not from here, however. I would suggest not leaving the county of the Shire, it can be considerably dangerous, especially these days."

Before she could answer though, he spoke again.

"Come," he said warmly "let me not speak of dark tidings. This party is to celebrate the one-hundred-and-eleventh birthday of my good friend, Bilbo Baggins, and the thirty-third of his nephew, Frodo. I am sure they will be more than happy to invite you all to join in the festivities. You will not be able to find your son if you neglect your own needs. Eat, drink, and rest, you all look dead on your feet!"

He chuckled good-naturedly, and waved at them to go enjoy themselves among the other guests.

Hook frowned at the old man's retreating back.

"I don't trust him." he said bluntly.

Emma hesitated. She too was looking at Gandalf as he returned amongst the hobbits. She shrugged.

"He seemed kind enough," she said, "and he did say we could join the party. Anyway, apparently he trusts us enough to do so. That's good enough for me. We're the strangers here, remember? Come on, let's go eat, I'm starving."

Too eager to protest, the others followed, and they all joined Bilbo's guests.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

While Emma, Mary-Margaret and David found that may puzzled glances were directed at them, they were relieved to see that no-one questioned them much. Emma couldn't face telling their story again, anyway.

They soon found seats, and went to help themselves to food. They marvelled at the sheer amount of it: huge trays loaded with meat, cakes the size of tractor-tyres, bowls as big as Jacuzzis overflowing with fruit, barrels taller than David full of ale.

They sat down with their plates, and soon found themselves immersed in a conversation with curious hobbits. They fortunately didn't want to talk about the Charming's origins, though. They seemed fascinated by family history, and were delighted to hear from Emma about the warped family tree they were part of. When Emma told them about Regina being Henry's adoptive mother, her mother's stepmother, and her own step-grandmother, the steadily-growing-larger crowd of hobbits around them gasped and laughed with surprise.

All in all, the hobbits proved to be cheerful and warm company, if a little too food-orientated in Emma's opinion. And apart from one moment when everybody around her seemed to think they were under a dragon attack, the evening was rather fun. In fact, she found herself having a very good time while listening to a funny story told by an old hobbit she thought the name of was 'Old Gaffer', something she would have thought impossible only an hour ago, tortured as she was by her desperate search for her son.

As she laughed out loud at the climax of the story, Regina climbed onto the bench to sit beside her. This was unusual, as normally the queen tended to stay as far away from her as possible, except when she wanted her help, or to reprimand her for something. For this reason, Emma looked at her enquiringly, wondering what on earth she was supposed to have done now to deserve another berating.

Regina leaned in.

"It seems we have a problem, Miss Swan." she said in a low voice.

"Why, what's wrong?" Emma asked, slightly alarmed.

"Hook."

"What's the matter with him?"

Regina indicated towards the dance floor with her head.

Emma looked, and immediately choked on her drink.

Hook was dancing in the middle of a ring of pretty little hobbit maidens, all laughing and dancing around him. Emma wasn't sure whether to laugh or groan. Hook was visibly pissed out of his mind; he was waving his arms above his head, stumbling uncertainly in the centre of the circle, with a mug of beer in his hand, and his hook was waving about rather dangerously. As the music reached its end, he took a wobbly bow, and in doing so tipped all his ale over a middle-aged hobbit woman, who was so busy laughing she didn't seem to notice. As the group of giggling girls scattered away, he stumbled once again, but this time he fell facedown onto the ground.

Emma nudged David and pointed at Hook. Her father rolled his eyes, but climbed off the bench and went with Emma to pick him off the ground. Together, they hauled him up and half-dragged, half-frog-marched him across the dancing green over to their table. They managed to sit him on the edge of a bench (Regina pointedly slid over to the other side), and he collapsed onto the table, laying there like a huge black spider with a particularly sharp and shiny pincer.

Out of breath from hauling Hook halfway across a field, Emma looked around for Mary-Margaret, vaguely wondering what she would have to say about this. She found her amid a group of chattering hobbit women, laughing and smiling at something in her arms. As Emma looked more closely, she saw that the thing inside Mary-Margaret's arms was a baby. A tiny, curly-haired hobbit baby. Emma moved a little closer, and she noticed that the infant was only slightly larger than her mother's hand. Feeling as though she walking in on a rather intimate scene, Emma stayed where she was, not wanting to disturb her friend. Mary-Margaret, however, had no such qualms; she looked up, grinned, and waved her daughter over.

"Look at her!" she breathed when her daughter joined her. "Isn't she adorable?"

Emma considered the minute infant. She had masses of curly black hair, large blue eyes, and a tiny button nose. The little girl smiled at Emma and gurgled, enjoying all the attention.

"Yeah," said Emma, trying to sound enthusiastic, "Yeah, she is..."

Mary-Margaret was radiant with happiness, laughing, smiling and cooing at the child as though she were her own.

Emma felt awkward. Was her friend really thinking what Emma thought she was thinking? Sure, the kid was cute, but Mary-Margaret already had her - a daughter - and Henry. Did she want another child?

Emma was still pondering these strange and unsettling thoughts when she suddenly noticed an increase in the cheers and shouting. She looked up, and saw an old and venerable-looking hobbit climbing onto a barrel, to shouts of encouragement and demands for a speech.

"This must be Bilbo." she thought.

The hobbit started his speech. He sounded a warm and overall good-natured fellow, and Emma smiled at the pleasantries at the beginning, though quickly got confused at the less-than-common way he phrased his sentences.

"Tonight I also have the pleasure of having new guests at my party." continued Bilbo. "Strangers from distant lands, who have done me the honour of joining me tonight." A few hobbits who had made acquaintances with the newcomers turned 'round and raised their mugs at Emma and her companions, drinking to their health. "While they have managed to enjoy themselves - and some of them perhaps too much -" (the hobbits laughed, having seen Hook collapse) "I at least have not yet had the pleasure of meeting them." Bilbo went on, smiling and waving at them. More laughter.

Emma grinned. This Bilbo Baggins really knew how to keep a crowd interested.

She quickly became fascinated as the speech took a decidedly different turn. Bilbo was standing stock-still, his hands behind his back as he surveyed the crowd before him. His face, previously full of humour and cheerfulness, was now serious and strained.

"I regret to announce that this is the end." he said, his voice echoing across the now silent party field. "I'm leaving now. I bid you all a very fond farewell. Goodbye."

And he vanished into thin air.

Emma blinked. How on earth had he managed that?

She looked to her companions. David was looking flabbergasted, Gold as though he knew something they didn't, and Regina was as expressionless as ever. Hook, though, was waving his empty mug of beer at the barrel.

"Goodbye!" he called, chuckling.

"How did that happen?" asked Emma.

Regina shrugged, not looking bothered in the slightest. David shook his head. "No idea."

Gold was still looking at the stage, though with curiosity, unlike David.

"Certainly, he used magic." he said thoughtfully.

"What?" Emma said sharply. "I thought we couldn't use magic around here."

"Oh no, dearie. We cannot. But perhaps the natives have found a way of using it."

He was looking very thoughtful as he said so. Perhaps he was plotting yet another way to get magic back to him.

Emma found that thought too disturbing to think about for the moment, and so turned to the others.

Mary-Margaret was still cooing at the child, looking quite undisturbed at the fact that their host had mysteriously disappeared beneath their very nose. Hook was once more slouching over the table, eyeing his mug of ale as though he was seriously considering getting up to fill it again. This proved to be another failure, however, as he toppled right over again as soon as he got to his feet.

Emma sighed and took the mug from him, going to the barrels herself to get some ale in his stead. At least he'd leave them alone if he was drunk.

When she reached the huge mountain of wooden barrels beneath a large canvas tent she encountered Merry and Pippin. Both had very sooty faces and wearing aprons. Pippin was drying a vast pot with a cloth, while Merry was moodily scrubbing at a stack of plates next to a washtub. They brightened considerably when they saw her arrive.

"Hello again!" Pippin said cheerily. "Did Gandalf manage to help you?"

Emma smiled at him.

"Yep," she said, "sorted a few things out, and all. He's a good guy."

Pippin looked slightly confused.

"Man." she corrected herself. "He's a good man."

Pippin nodded happily and went back to his dish, prattling on about how wonderful Gandalf and his fireworks were. Merry was muttering darkly to himself about all the things he'd like to do to Gandalf, preferably with the scrubbing brush he was holding, although the heavy fire-stoker had its merits too.

Emma was only half-listening. She'd just seen something of interest. Beyond the tent, on top of a little hill were patches of light that Emma saw were windows. Behind the windows were two silhouettes that kept moving in and out the light. One of them was remarkably tall, and the other rather stout and old-looking...

She excused herself from the two chattering hobbits, and went to investigate. She left the party field, and went up a small flight of stone stairs to a curious-looking little house that looked like it had been dug from inside the hill itself. As she approached the neat little garden in front of it, the front door opened, and out came Bilbo. He was dressed differently from what he had been wearing at the party, and was carrying a large rucksack and a walking stick. She retreated a little into the shadows, not wanting to look like she was eavesdropping. She saw Bilbo pause and turn around to face Gandalf. The two silhouettes, one so tall and the other so small, exchanged a few words and embraced. Bilbo walked out of his home and followed the path down. As he approached the area Emma was standing, she heard him humming slightly to himself.

He noticed her as she moved forwards, and she could see he recognised her from the party. He smiled at her, raised his hand as though in farewell, and walked passed her into the night.

Emma wanted to call, run after him, but found herself rooted to the spot. Instead, she went up the rest of the path, and entered the garden. It was very pretty, even at nighttime. Bilbo obviously liked flowers and plants.

As she made to cross the threshold, something on the floor caught her eye.

A small golden ring was lying there, as though abandoned. It was a plain, bright gold band, but it caught the firelight so clearly that it made Emma stare at it longer than she normally would have at a piece of jewellery. In fact, the longer she looked at it, the more beautiful it seemed to become. She reached out to it, wanting to touch it, to see if it really was as beautiful up close...

"That ring does not belong to you, and I hope to the Valar that it never does." said a gruff voice.

Emma jumped and looked around. Gandalf was sitting at the fireplace, his back to her, slightly clouded from her sight by a veil of smoke.

"No," she stammered, "no, of course not... I didn't mean to... I'm sorry, I..."

Gandalf turned to her.

His eyes really were very piercing, Emma thought as the old man surveyed her.

His beard twitched, and she saw that he was smiling gently.

"I have told Bilbo about your situation, and you and your companions are welcome to stay here at Bag End." he said kindly. "There's plenty of space for all of you here, and I daresay Frodo will be interested to meet you. However, I would suggest keeping your extraordinary story to yourselves for the time being. Bilbo is gone now, but Frodo is here, and he knows of your tale."

Emma nodded, wanting to thank him for all the hospitality he and Bilbo had shown them, but found her tongue tied under his piercing gaze. He seemed to understand though, and he smiled again.

Suddenly, Emma heard her name being called. She turned, and saw her parents in the distance, visibly looking and calling out for her.

Wondering what had happened now. Emma excused herself from Gandalf, and went to join her companions, finding her parents in an agitated state. They looked intensely relieved when they saw her, and immediately ran over.

Snow got there first, and grabbed her daughter's arms.

"Emma, don't you ever do that to us again." she cried fiercely. "Do you realize what we've just been through? You disappeared and nobody saw you go; I thought you'd been taken as well!"

With that, she pulled her close so tightly Emma was beginning to fight for breath.

"Don't make me lose you again." her mother whispered, still hugging her.

Completely nonplussed by her reaction, Emma gently disengaged herself from Mary-Margaret's grip.

"Hey, hey," she said consolingly, "don't worry about me okay? I'm a big girl, I can manage. And I was only gone five minutes anyway; the most that could happen to me in this place is get run over by a horde of hungry hobbits."

Mary-Margaret smiled, still slightly shaken.

Unfortunately, Hook chose that moment to march uncertainly over to Emma, waggling a beer-mug in her face.

"Hey, lass." he crowed "Where's my beer?"

He staggered into her, knocking her off her feet and onto the ground. This was the second time she had been knocked over by someone in one evening, and Emma was starting to get seriously annoyed. Not to mention bruised, dusty and tired. She wriggled underneath the drunk pirate.

"Gerroff me, Hook!" she shouted in a muffled voice, fighting ferociously under his weight.

She got a rumbling snore for a response.

Nearing rage now, Emma summoned a single burst of strength and shoved him off her body. Breathing heavily and dusting herself off, Emma got up and glared furiously at her parents, who were doubled up laughing.

"Thanks for your help." she said acidly, sarcasm almost literally dripping off her tongue.

David grinned at her.

"You handled it fine by yourself." he said, putting a fond arm around her. "Big Girl indeed. I really don't fancy being Hook to wake up later and discover that you floored him yet again."

Still chuckling, he lead his family over to Gold and Regina, who were still at their table.

Emma informed them of the sleeping arrangements Gandalf had arranged for them, and they set off for Bag End, as they were by now literally drooping with exhaustion.

"What about Hook?" asked Mary-Margaret, ever the soft-hearted one. Everybody glanced at Hook's spread-eagled sleeping form on the grass.

"Who?" Emma asked with a smirk.


	3. Bag End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a little clarification, I'm writing this story as a combination of both book and movie-verse. However, any scenes from the movie I cannot promise will be exactly the same, dialogue-wise (otherwise it would just get boring). I will of course stay as loyal as possible to the story, but the events won't be word-for-word what happens in the books/movies.

Later that evening, introductions between the party from Storybrooke and Frodo were made. Frodo was much younger than his uncle, and his dark curls and large blue eyes reminded Emma of the baby Mary-Margaret had been cuddling. He seemed a nice hobbit overall, although he looked a little distracted during the whole process of introductions. Emma suspected it had something to do with Bilbo's departure and the ring she had seen earlier: she had spotted Gandalf speaking quickly and urgently to Frodo just before he left.

Frodo proved to be a generous and kind host; he easily found room for all his visitors without the slightest show of reluctance or surprise. Although he certainly noticed Hook's piratical appearance and weapon, Emma's and Mary-Margaret's wearing of trousers, and the continuous enmity between Hook and Gold he made no comment, and the six were grateful for that.

Emma and Regina were sharing a room (much to both their displeasure - but they didn't say anything in front of Frodo), whilst Mary-Margaret and David shared another, and both Hook and Gold had their own rooms. This did not prove inconvenient in the slightest though, as all rooms were obviously hobbit-sized, thus took relatively little space, and there were many other rooms in Bag End anyway.

Emma was so exhausted she only removed her jacket and boots before climbing into bed. The bed was surprisingly large, and she found she could quite easily stretch her legs out as she usually did. This was a relief, as the room, although very cozy, was rather cramped; Emma had to crouch to look out of the window and kneel to look into a tiny mirror over a wash basin no larger than a soup bowl.

Regina was extremely tired as well, that much Emma's drained mind could deduce, for she did not say anything to her roommate, unpleasant or otherwise. As soon as Emma's head hit the pillow she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. It seemed passing through a portal, walking for hours and enjoying one's self at a party for a whole evening really knocked a person out, despite having lost one's son mere hours previously.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

Ten hours later, Emma opened her eyes to a ray of sunlight shining on her face. For a moment, she didn't know where she was. Then, as she turned her head and spotted Regina still sleeping in her own bed at the other side of the room, everything came back to her in a rush. Henry's kidnap, the portal, Middle-Earth, the party, that ring...

Judging by the quality of the light streaming through the tiny window, it was late morning; somewhere between ten and eleven, Emma estimated.

Embarrassed at having stayed in bed for so long, Emma threw back the covers and got up. She dressed quickly, then padded out of the bedroom, careful not to wake Regina. She made her way to the main living room (because there were apparently quite a few in Bag End), though not without getting lost a couple of times. When she finally reached it, it was to find her parents sitting at a wooden table, which was laden with the likes of breakfast Emma could not have imagined possible, let alone seen before.

There were about 30 slices of thick bacon which smelled quite heavenly, a dozen red plump tomatoes,  an omelette made by with at least two dozen eggs,  a whole dish full of  cooked mushrooms, a wedding-cake sized jelly, five thick loaves of white bread and many different types of jam.

Emma sat down to this extraordinary selection of breakfast delicacies, awed by the sheer amount of it. She caught Mary-Margaret's eye.

"Impressive, isn't it?" her mother said, laughing. "Personally, I don't feel hungry enough to eat even one of those tomatoes, not after last night."

Emma was about to reply, but was cut off by Frodo's entrance into the room. He glanced at her.

"Ah, good, you're awake." he said. "I must say, you slept a lot. Though I suppose that's hardly surprising. You looked exhausted yesterday."

He was riffling through all sorts of papers and objects as he said this. Then he looked up and saw that Emma and her parents weren't eating.

"Well, you lot don't seem very hungry. I'd have thought you would be, since you already missed first breakfast."

Emma exchanged a bemused glance with her parents.

"You mean you eat more than one breakfast?" Emma worried. She hoped etiquette didn't mean she would have to eat as much as hobbits did, else she'd be obese by the end of the week.

Frodo chuckled.

"Ah, yes; I'd forgotten Big Folk didn't eat as much as hobbits do. Don't worry, you don't have to eat if you don't wish to." he said kindly. "Although I cannot wait to see Pippin's face when he finds out you eat less than six courses a day." he added with another chuckle.

Emma grinned.

"Something tells me that he and Henry would get along really well together. He easily eats hot dogs and ice creams between meals."

"Oh, so that's what you've been doing with him, Miss Swan? Now I'll know where he gets those habits from." said Regina, who had just entered the room.

Frowning, Emma turned back to her breakfast. Frodo looked slightly confused, probably trying to figure out the meanings of 'hot dogs' and 'ice creams'.

All in all, after an enormous breakfast and a whispered fight with Regina, Emma decided to explore the place. Not Bag End, for she had a feeling she'd already discovered most of it this morning whilst wandering around trying to find the living room. But she rather wanted to see what the hills surrounding it could possibly be like. After all, it wasn't often one got to meet a people that lived underground in cozy little burrows, so she set off shortly afterwards to explore on her own.

As it turned out, the Shire was nothing short of paradise. Emma wasn't a great fan of nature, nor did she care much about the beauty of landscape, but even she could see that this place was as close to perfect as it could get. The grass was emerald green, the sky was a deep, forget-me-not blue, and the sun was bright and warm. She ambled about vaguely, listening to birdsongs and observing what other hobbits were doing, though was careful not to stare too much. She didn't know much about the code of conduct here, and didn't want to accidentally offend someone.

The Shire was strange as well as beautiful, because Emma could see many similarities with Storybrooke, her home for the last year. All the citizens greeted each other cheerily, all were going somewhere with a purpose, and everyone seemed happy enough as far as she could tell.

And yet, there were many differences Emma couldn't help but notice. Obviously, the lack of electricity and running water were two major factors, but also small details like the care-free feeling everyone seemed to radiate, and the easy way the hobbits appeared to deal with one another. Emma noticed, for instance, a young hobbit strolling over to a fruit and cake stall, look the goods over, take his pick, chatted with the stall-keeper, and walked away without paying. The most astonishing thing, in Emma's opinion, was that the stall-keeper waved him off with a smile and a cheery farewell.

She wandered on for about an hour more, before she came upon Merry and Pippin again. They were lying down on the grass, smoking from long thin pipes, and making shapes out of the clouds. Emma heard them arguing about a shape Pippin had seen.

"It can't have been, Pip."

"Yes, it was."

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes, it was."

"You're telling me, that that cloud over there - the one next to the smiling frog and under the horse on a rocking chair - is a dragon picking its nose?"

There was a pause.

"Well, obviously the shape's shifted now." came Pippin's voice, sounding slightly annoyed. "You took so long to believe me that the wind's blown them away."

Merry chuckled, and Emma came into their view. They called out greetings to her, inquiring about her night's rest, asking about Gandalf, and wanting to know if she'd had any cake after all.

Emma sat down with them and chatted for a while. As Frodo had predicted, Pippin's jaw fell open lower than she would have thought possible when she told him that humans didn't actually eat six or seven times a day. Laughing at his flabbergasted expression, she assured him, however, that her son seemed to have hobbit blood in him, since he was hungry all the time. Emma continued to talk with the hobbits. She would later find it disconcerting how easy it had been to simply relax in the sun with her two new acquaintances, when she really should have been devoting every minute of every hour to finding Henry.

Finally, when the sun was getting near the center of the sky, Emma took her leave from the hobbits and made her way back to Bag End. Estimating that climbing over a certain hill would serve as a shortcut, she began to walk up it. The hill was steep, and she was pretty soon out of breath. She stumbled on, a stitch in her side, keeping her gaze fixed on the ground before her feet. Then she literally bumped into someone she had no desire whatsoever to see.

Hook was standing on the summit of the hill she'd been climbing, staring over the hills surrounding them through that spyglass of his. He jerked forward when Emma bumped into him and turned around in annoyance, but smirked when he noticed who it was and how disheveled and out-of-breath she was. She glared at him, but couldn't speak, because her lungs were still desperately screaming that they were empty.

"Really, Swan." he smirked. "You should think about getting fit. Nobody would get that breathless after climbing a hill... Unless of course they saw me on top of it." he finished with a suggestive wink.

"Oh, that's...a bit rich...coming from a guy...who was so drunk...he couldn't walk last night." she gasped, furious.

Hook shrugged and put his spyglass back to his eye, looking once more to the hills. Emma noticed he was looking in the general direction they had come from the day before. She also noticed his pale face and indigo shadows under his eyes. No doubt he was also suffering from a thumping headache now, too. She stood still for a minute, concentrating on getting her breathing even again.

"You know," she ventured when she finally had, "those two hobbits said Gandalf was a wizard. Maybe we could ask him to get the Jolly Roger down."

Hook didn't say anything, but Emma sensed it was because he was thinking. She also guessed the reason for his prolonged analysis of the suggestion.

"The magic here is different, Hook." she said. "Needing it and using it won't make you like Gold."

Hook still stayed silent for a while. So much so that Emma started making her way down the hill again, towards Bag End.

"I swore to myself I would never use it." he said suddenly. Emma turned again to face him. "When Milah died, I swore that to myself. Magic had killed her. Magic is the signature of Rumplestiltskin. And so I will never use it."

Emma stared at him, but he kept his gaze away from her. Suddenly, he strode down the hill as well, bypassing her. Emma stood still for a moment, thinking about what he had just said.

When she thought about it, every magical thing that she knew had happened to Hook since Milah's death was either because of someone else, or not strictly magic at all. The beans were made and cultivated by the giants, not Rumplestiltskin. The hook had been enchanted to remove hearts by Regina, against his will. The dagger he had wanted to kill Gold with, not to use it. The cuff had been given to him by Cora, to get to the compass.

He'd never had a say or a choice over them. It had always been others' decisions.

Slightly troubled by this notion, although she could not explain why, Emma made her way down too. She walked back to Bag End, but by the time she had arrived there, only one question was revolving in her mind: why had Hook chosen to confide in her?

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

The party from Storybrooke held a meeting that afternoon, in one of Bilbo's (well, Frodo's, now) many sitting rooms. After many heated arguments from both sides (Emma and Regina were for once united in their wish to find Henry as soon as possible, whereas the others were taking more of a practical view of the situation, and tried to reason with them), they at last decided on staying at Bag End until they had any wind of anything strange, or indeed, Greg and Tamara. The theory was, Henry and his captors could be anywhere at the moment, and, judging by the maps Hook had been studying that morning, Middle-earth was a huge place. Bigger, in fact, North America! So how on earth were they supposed to find Henry by just walking around and asking questions? In the end, both Regina and Emma agreed that setting off in the wild wasn't very clever, especially as they knew nothing about this world.

And so it was decided. The six strangers from Storybrooke, Maine, now were settling down (some more reluctantly than others) for their stay in Bag End. Frodo had very kindly once again assured them that they were welcome for as long as they liked, and put his foot down on their protests by saying that he was far from refusing company now that Bilbo had gone, anyway.

Bag End, as it turned out, was far from uneventful, even though it did seem quaint and repetitive to the six at first. Each of them found things to do every day, whether worthwhile or simply for the fun of them.

Emma, for instance, found herself enjoying the company of Merry and Pippin more and more. She realized it was no use worrying fruitlessly about Henry, and so she decided to let go of her fear for a while. And though Henry was constantly on her mind, it was more with a sense of longing than actual worry or fear. She sometimes despised herself for not worrying more, but then would later think that Greg and Tamara had no reason she knew of to harm Henry, so why should she worry? And so, she often spent her mornings with Merry and Pippin, either exploring the woods with them, playing pranks on unsuspecting hobbits (and on one memorable occasion, Hook), or enduring cooking lessons.

Merry and Pippin had introduced her to another hobbit called Samwise Gamgee, and all three of them had been astounded to learn that she had very few cooking skills. So they immediately got to teaching her all they knew. Sam especially was proud to show off his knowledge, and Emma, being rather fond of them and finding it all quite amusing, let them teach her.

It soon seemed that her only worry was the daily challenge of getting dressed without having to call for aid. The hobbit seamstresses had very kindly made human-sized dresses for Snow, Emma and Regina. Emma - being by far the most inexperienced in these matters - often had to resort to calling Mary-Margaret for help when dressing, her corset, stockings and drawers making no sense to her at all.

Cooking lessons and dresses aside, Emma's favourite activity by far was planning complicated but fun and rather satisfying stratagems whose aim was to dissuade unwanted visitors at Bag-End from pestering Frodo. Surprisingly, she found that Hook was a well-appreciated partner in said activity, and they were soon working together to drive old Tooks and infuriating Proudfoots out of Frodo's garden. On one such occasion, it took the persuasion of Hook's sword and an upturned bucket of cow muck (courtesy of Emma) to convince a particularly annoying Sackville-Baggins couple to go away. Emma's sides still ached the next day from having laughed so much.

Hook could usually be found either in the chart room, pouring over maps and books, or else sitting on the hill where Emma had bumped into him, staring into the distance, trying to get a glimpse of his beloved ship.

Gold, as a former peasant, surprised his companions by volunteering to work alongside the hobbits, spinning straw and wool into rope and yarn. This was unusual behaviour for him, as doing something for people for free was about as frequent in his life as flying pigs.

Snow and her prince were using most of their spare time to spend quality time with each other, as lately life in Storybrooke had been more than just a little eventful. They hadn't managed to get much time on their own since Snow's return from the Enchanted Forest, either. And when Mary-Margaret and David weren't walking around the Shire together, talking in Bilbo's library, or chatting with other hobbits, Mary-Margaret would be with the baby she had been holding in her arms during the party. Little Rain - or Blue, as Emma had nicknamed her - was Mary-Margaret's pride and joy during those couple of weeks after the party. Rain was the eleventh child in her family, so her mother understandably had little time to look after her smallest daughter, and was therefore more than happy to let Mary-Margaret play with and tend to her.

As for Regina, she gradually shed her mask of cold unconcern, and began to participate in everyday life alongside their hosts. She was usually seen in Bilbo's garden, tending to flowers, pruning bushes and blossoming shrubs, and occasionally weeding patches of earth. She also made a habit out of reading stories to hobbit children, who seemed to find her fascinating. There was often a crowd of the little creatures around her, begging her to tell them more stories. Emma watched this, and was secretly impressed. Regina had promised Henry to be a better mother, and she was evidently trying to live up to her word. Regina's companions watched as her coldness melted away, to be replaced by more and more frequent smiles and gestures of affection to the hobbit children. Somewhat to their dismay however, she remained pretty much her usual self around them. She was never directly disagreeable now, but always formal, and never showed any emotion when in their company.

Emma found this new Regina slightly more worrying than the former, unpleasant, superior and manipulative Regina they had known in Storybrooke. She felt the queen was shutting herself from any emotion, to prevent herself from being disappointed ever again. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Emma realized with a jolt of shock that this had been her exact behaviour during all those years between Neal's 'betrayal' and her meeting of Henry for the first time. She resolved to be nothing but pleasant and encouraging to the queen from now on.

She couldn't quite believe what she was trying to do; this was Regina, the source of all their problems since years ago, and yet Emma was going to try and get her out of her viscious cycle behaviour.

The world could well have turned upside down.

Thus did the small company spend three weeks in the sunny, seemingly ever-green Shire. The few hints at danger that Gandalf had made at the party had quite left their minds.

On one warm evening, however, things took a dramatically different turn.

Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin, along with Hook and David, had gone down to the Green Dragon for drinks. The women opted to stay at Bag End - Mary-Margaret especially was disapproving of this outing. Emma said nothing, because she secretly wished for a drink as well, but knew better than to say so in front of her own mother. Regina had nodded vaguely when she was informed of their companions' excursion, and not glanced up from the book she was reading. All three were sitting in the library in - for once - amiable silence.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

Later that night Frodo and Sam were walking back to Bag End. Sam was fuming because Hook had been chatting up Rosie Cotton, and the pirate was now trying to wheedle a kiss out of her. Sam looked back jealously.

"Oi, mind who you're sweet-talking." he muttered.

Frodo nudged his friend comfortingly.

"Don't worry, Sam." he said. "Rosie knows an idiot when she sees one."

Sam looked hopeful.

"Does she?"

Suppressing a grin, Frodo nodded and clapped him on the back in farewell as they reached Bag End.

Frodo entered his house without much on his mind, apart maybe from congratulating Regina on the state of the garden; if it had been pretty when the company arrived, it was now nothing short of perfect. The queen had clearly put all of her efforts into it.

He vaguely registered that the lights were out. Perhaps the others have already gone to bed, he thought.

Suddenly, a hand grasped his shoulder. Leaping around, it took Frodo a second to recognise Gandalf. His hair was lank and unkempt, and there was a look of urgency on his lined features.

"Is it secret?" he demanded in a hushed voice. "Is it safe?"

 

0o0o0o0o0o0

 

Emma stretched and yawned. She got up, intending to stretch her legs. There was only so long one could sit there reading, especially by candlelight.

She left her two reading companions in the library and made her way to the living room. This took her considerably less time, now; after three weeks here, Emma had mastered the twists and turns of Bag End. She was about to go past the hall when she heard voices, hushed and low, coming from the kitchen. Hesitating, Emma stayed rooted to the spot; Frodo had shown them every kindness and hospitality. Eavesdropping and listening behind doors in his own house seemed a pretty poor way of repaying him. Suddenly, one of the voices rose in volume; it sounded scared.

Frowning in curiosity, Emma crept to the doorway of the room, the burning feeling that she was onto something bubbling away in her stomach.

Emma listened to the voices, recognizing those of Frodo and... Gandalf? Gandalf was here?

All thoughts of walking away unnoticed to give Frodo and his guest privacy now gone, Emma pressed her ear to the door as tightly as she could without moving it or making a sound.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0

 

"Where've you been?" asked Frodo, pouring steaming tea for his friend.

"Many places." answered Gandalf. "But on this journey only to Gondor, to the city of Minas Tirith. There I found letters and papers written long ago- one written by Isildur himself."

"Isildur!" exclaimed Frodo in bemused awe. "The son of Elendil?"

"Indeed. Heir to the throne of Gondor during the battle of the last Alliance, before his father Elendil was killed by Sauron himself." Gandalf took a deep breath, ignoring Frodo's look of confusion at the mention of the ancient Dark Lord. "In these documents, Isildur wrote about a something that was created by Sauron. The object itself was a simple golden ring, but this ring was much more than it appeared to be. The Dark Lord poured a great amount of himself into this ring: his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all forms of life. And through it he would control all of the other Great Rings - thus their rulers, and so take over Middle-earth. But during the Battle of the Last Alliance, Isildur cut the ring off his finger and so cut Sauron off from his major source of power, and ending the war that had gone on for so long and cost so many lives. This war, however, was only ended for a time."

"Isildur should have destroyed the ring - thus ended Sauron's existence for ever. But the hearts of Men are easily corrupted. The evil that the ring contains and controls - although it was supposed to have been annihilated - is still alive and gaining power every day. While the Dark Lord is still vulnerable, he has a great number of resources and is strengthening his defenses. This ring - the One Ring- was lost; Isildur was ambushed while riding up North, and the ring passed out of all knowledge. I fear it has been found again- and is now in your possession." Gandalf paused. "If Sauron regains this ring, Middle-Earth will fall to his will."

Frodo had listened to this nightmarish revelation in silence, too aghast to say anything. He was silent still for a long while as he absorbed the information. He seemed to be struggling to find an argument against Gandalf's theory. At last, it transpired, he found one.

"How do you know that Bilbo's ring- my ring- is Sauron's?"

"That remained an uncertainty for a long time in my mind, for I was wishing with all my heart that it could not be so. However, it became clear to me at last as I read Isildur's letter." Gandalf paused again, and looked enquiringly at Frodo. "You still have it?"

Frodo nodded and went to a locked chest beside the mantelpiece. He drew out the key, took out the ring, and held it out to his friend uncertainly. "What will you do with it?"

"I? Oh, not I, dear boy. You shall. Throw it into the fire."

Frodo looked at him in astonishment.

"Are you mad? Why burn such a precious, beautiful thing?"

Gandalf frowned. "Already it grows precious to you. It is as I feared." he muttered, as though to himself. He addressed Frodo again. "Don't worry, it won't damage it."

Frodo, with some apparent difficulty, dropped it into the crackling fire. A minute or so later Gandalf gingerly lifted it out with tongs and dropped it in Frodo's hand. Frodo jerked his hand back in surprise, expecting to get scorched. In fact, it was not heated at all, and lay there serene and innocent on his open palm. He looked at it incredulously and then to Gandalf. The wizard turned from him, looking troubled.

"Can you see anything?" he asked.

Frodo examined the fat golden band. It looked quite as smooth and ordinary as usual. He shook his head. "Nothing." he said.

Gandalf sighed, looking even more troubled than before.

"Wait." said Frodo.

Gandalf turned to him.

"There are some markings on the band." Frodo said, the fiery script reflecting on his pale face. "It's some form of Elvish; I can't read it."

"There are few who can." said Gandalf darkly. "The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here. In the Common Tongue it says: One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all, and in the Darkness bind them."

Gandalf sighed again, and passed a hand over his lined face. "Now it is certain: this is the One Ring. And Sauron needs only this ring to fully regain his previous power. He is seeking it, all his thought is bent on it. Frodo, he must never find it."

Frodo nodded, looking scared but determined. He picked the ring up.

"Alright then; We'll hide it, put it away, and never speak of it again. No one knows it's here, do they?"

Gandalf remained silent, looking at his young friend gravely, his wise face unusually sad.

The hobbit turned to look at him, fear and doubt growing in his eyes again.

"No one knows it's here… Do they, Gandalf?"

Gandalf sighed with regret.

"There is another who knew Bilbo had the Ring; he once owned the Ring himself." he said. "I looked everywhere for the creature Gollum, but the enemy found him first. I don't know how long they tortured him, but he has told them two words: 'Shire' and 'Baggins'. Sauron has already sent his deadliest servants to find the Ring."

Frodo's eyes widened.

"Shire? Baggins?" he cried. "But that will lead them here!"

Frodo looked at the Ring again. How could so beautiful a thing be so dangerous? He looked up at Gandalf again and took a deep breath.

"What must I do?"

 

0o0o0o0o0o0

 

Frodo packed his things rapidly. How had this happened? He had to leave the Shire and almost everything he owned behind: his friends, Bilbo's beautiful house, and go all the way to Bree.

"Make for the village of Bree. I will meet you at the Inn of the Prancing pony." Gandalf told him.

"Where will you go?" asked Frodo, wrapping a loaf of bread and putting it inside his rucksack.

"I am going to see the head of my Order. He is both wise and powerful. Trust me Frodo, he'll know what to do." Gandalf said with a reassuring smile.

Frodo nodded. Gandalf helped him pull on his rucksack, keeping up a stream of instructions. "Travel only by day. Stay off the roads."

Frodo nodded, pushing the Ring inside his pocket. "I can cut across country easily enough."

As he packed, the hobbit suddenly remembered his guests, the strangers who had come to stay with him since Bilbo's disappearance.

"Gandalf, what about the others? Do you think they should stay here?"

Gandalf glanced at him distractedly; clearly he had not thought about them, so great had his concern been for Frodo and the Ring. He was on the verge of answering Frodo's inquiry when there was a sudden noise in the bushes below the large window.

Both Gandalf and Frodo turned to the window.

"Get down!" Gandalf muttered to the hobbit.

He grabbed his staff and crept to the window as the bushes stirred again. The wizard hit the thing in the bushes with the pointy end of his staff and it grunted. Plants and wind don't grunt. Gandalf threw his staff to the floor and, leaning out of the window, pulled up the thing inside and flattened it onto the table.

It was David.

"Confound it all Sam-" the wizard started to shout, but then saw that the culprit was not, in fact, the supposed hobbit.

David was staring at Gandalf, clearly still stunned at having been dragged through a two-foot high window.

Gandalf, not put-off in the slightest by this astounded scrutiny, glowered at the intruder.

"Am I to understand you've been eavesdropping, Mr Nolan? What did you hear? Speak!"

David opened his mouth to respond, but before he could do so the door crashed open. Mary-Margaret rushed in, followed by Emma, Sam Gamgee and Regina, pointing Hook's sword at Gandalf.

"Get your hands off my husband." she said coolly to the wizard.

Gandalf's blue eyes glanced at the sword, at Mary-Margaret herself, and at her slightly sheepish companions. He snorted.

"Put that away." he said gruffly to Mary-Margaret. "There's no need for a show."

Mary-Margaret slowly lowered the sword as David scrambled to his feet again and joined them. He still had a couple of dead leaves and smudges of earth on his clothes. Hook, who had ambled in after Regina, was in a similar state. Sam gulped at Gandalf's glare and hid behind Emma's knees.

Gandalf surveyed them some more and snorted again.

"It seems that you were all eavesdropping, then. I have no doubt that you heard every word of our conversation. Perhaps you thought you had every right to intrude?" he said tartly, still glowering at them all under extraordinarily bushy eyebrows.

The group said nothing for a few moments, but then Emma spoke up.

"We want to help Frodo." she said.

"We do?" muttered Hook to Regina.

The latter shrugged, not much caring either way.

Emma stepped forward.

"We heard about the Ring, and this Dark guy returning," ("Well, I didn't." muttered Hook) "and we want to go with Frodo to....wherever he's going."

Gandalf held her gaze for a few seconds. Emma felt like he was trying to dig out some other reason for her sudden wish to help their host. She kept her face impassive. She could not bring herself to say that it was for herself as well as for Frodo: the more they traveled across Middle-Earth the more chances they had of finding Henry. And, a small voice whispered self-righteously, it was also because they wanted to help Frodo and thank him for having been so kind to them.

Then, to the group's surprise Gandalf smiled.

"Good." he chuckled. "Very good."

He tuned to Frodo.

"Well, my dear Frodo it seems you've found yourself some worthy traveling companions. " he said cheerfully. "You and your new companions will have to get ready quickly, we leave tomorrow at first light."

With that, he straightened his hat, picked up his staff, and marched out of the room towards the kitchen, where they could hear him making some tea.

The group exchanged glances, completely nonplussed by this sudden change of reaction and at a loss of what to say. That is, except Hook. He tapped Mary-Margaret on the shoulder.

"Lass, unless you're planning to kill anybody with that sword, do you think I could have it back?"


	4. Black Riders

"So let me get this straight," said Hook , face-palming his slightly bloodshot eyes (souvenirs from a bit of an overenthusiastic visit of the Green Dragon), "some evil maniac used to rule this place, but then he was defeated except for his bloody ring, and because of said bloody ring that bastard is now still alive and trying to rule over everything again?"

The others nodded solemnly, the hobbits too polite to comment on his rather unique choice of words, and his companions too used to his demeanour to care.

They were currently resting under a large tree, and Frodo had just filled them on all the facts, knowing that they probably hadn't heard everything if they had been eavesdropping. It was the first time Hook heard the story, and he was having difficulty understanding why that meant they all had to be trekking across country for the whole day.

For that was what they had been doing: they had left Bag End at first light, parted with Gandalf in a small clearing, and set off across the Shire with nothing but food, water, a change of clothes and the few weapons they had. They had marched all day under the warm sun, eating lunch on the go and not stopping for many hours. Most of the Storybrooke group marvelled at how much easier it was for them to walk for hours now; it seemed that the fresh air and the hearty food of their host had strengthened them. However, all stamina had a limit, and soon both Hook and Gold had found themselves lagging behind slightly toward the end of the afternoon. Emma noticed this and called for a rest.

Hook muttered something about getting used to his land legs, whilst Gold slumped down next to a tree. He looked exhausted.

Emma squirmed guiltily; she'd forgotten Gold had a limp and a cane. "Frodo, d'you think it's okay if we have a rest for fifteen minutes? Some of use really can't go on any further." she asked the worried-looking hobbit.

Frodo shook his head and smiled. "No, not fifteen minutes. We've covered a great deal of land, more than I had hoped for. We can stop here and stay for the night."

Sighing with relief, all seven of Frodo's companions had sunk to the ground, stretching their tired limbs.

And now Sam was poking pieces of bacon and sausages in a frying pan, the others content to simply watch him or chat amongst themselves. Frodo was lying on a horizontal branch of a tree, smoking from a long, thin pipe. The chatter gradually died down, as their attention was now mostly on their future dinner. Suddenly Frodo looked up, a smile on his face. Emma looked around too, wondering what he had heard. Then she heard it too; a slow, enchanting melody, that filled her with peace and content, and yet gave her a certain sense of longing and sadness. She closed her eyes as she listened to the music.

"Wood-elves." she heard Frodo say.

That made her open her eyes again. Hang on, she thought, wood-elves?

She got up, her weariness suddenly forgotten as she followed Frodo and Sam through bushes and fallen trees. She caught up with them when they knelt behind a large bush. What she saw next was enough to take her breath away.

A procession of tall and beautiful beings was making its way past them, oblivious to their presence. The singing came from their midst, and Emma was entranced by the beauty of it all. The elves seemed to glow a silver light, illuminating the darkening forest around them. She heard a rustle next to her and turned around to see Mary-Margaret, also staring at the other-worldly creatures with amazement in her eyes.

"They're going to the harbour beyond the White Towers. To the Grey Havens." Emma heard Frodo say.

"They're leaving Middle-Earth." Sam whispered.

"Never to return." Frodo whispered back.

Sam looked crestfallen. "I don't know why," he said, "it makes me sad."

Emma felt a surge of sympathy for the sweet little hobbit, for she could feel it too. The thought that such wonderful beauty should leave Middle-earth seemed so sad it was as if Frodo had said there would be no more sunlight or music.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0

 

Emma cursed as they tramped on, through fields and meadows, rivers and streams, glens and clearings. Her fingers were swollen from having walked with her arms swinging so much, her feet ached, a couple of blisters were making their presence known, and the hot sun was hammering a pretty pattern on the back of her neck. Why were the discomforts of walking never mentioned in books and stories? Emma glanced jealously at the hobbits. They were bantering in a carefree manner that left Emma in no doubt that they weren't suffering from any of her sorenesses.

The company had set off early in the morning, refreshed by a good night's sleep. They had all been so exhausted they had had no trouble whatsoever finding it. All apart from Sam, who had spent the night grumbling about roots.

They were now marching through a field of corn, the stalks of which were easily as tall as Hook. Emma was just wondering when their next rest would be when she heard Sam's anxious cry behind her. She frowned; what was the matter now?

She turned around to see Sam hurrying over to them, looking relieved.

"I thought I'd lost you." he explained apologetically, glancing at Emma's annoyed face.

"What are you talking about?" asked Frodo kindly.

Sam looked sheepish. "It's just something Gandalf said." he muttered.

Frodo immediately looked suspicious. "What did he say?"

" 'Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee.' "Sam answered. “And I don't mean to."

"Sam, we're still in the Shire," Frodo said, laughing, "what could possibly happen?"

It was then that fortune decided to show Frodo exactly what could happen, and why.

Something burst out of the corn stalks and bowled Frodo over. He bumped into Emma as he fell, sending her sprawling over onto Hook. Their other companions hardly had time to laugh before another something knocked over Mary-Margaret, who fell back into David, who lost his balance and dragged down Regina with him as he tried to clutch at something to remain standing.

The result was a very dusty, very annoyed tangled heap on the floor, surveyed by Gold, who raised a mocking eyebrow.

Hook was smirking at Emma, who was still lying across him.

"Shall we pretend for the sake of generosity that that wasn't deliberate, princess?"

Emma cursed again as she got up, dusting herself off and glaring at Hook. The latter stood up as well, still smirking.

"Really, Swan," he said, his eyes twinkling. "If you wanted to lie on me, I can assure you there are more...subtle and...intimate ways." he finished with a wink.

Emma ignored him, even though she was burning with embarrassment and seriously considering wiping that face of its grin with a well-aimed punch. She instead determinedly set her attention on the two somethings.

As it turned out, it was Merry and Pippin, both carrying large armfuls of vegetables and rather shifty expressions.

"You've been into Farmer Maggot's crop!" shouted Sam indignantly as Pippin shoved cabbages and carrots into his hands.

Before Emma could groan in exasperation, shouts sounded somewhere not far to their right. From what they could hear, Farmer Maggot had found out about the two scoundrels and was none too pleased.

"Run!" shouted Merry.

They didn't need telling twice. They ran for it, wrenching corn stalks and leaves from their path. Frodo emerged first, coming to a sudden and wobbly halt as he spotted the edge of a small cliff just in time. However his other nine companions didn't have that advantage and ran into him one after the other. Mary-Margaret came last and crashed into the tangled group. The added force of her momentum was enough to topple the whole company over the edge of the cliff. The resultant journey was short, but uncomfortable. The ten companions groaned as one as soon as the dusty heap came to something of a stop.

For the second time in as many minutes, a furious Emma picked herself off Hook. Incredibly, he was still grinning.

"Would you like to go over the edge with me again, lass?"

Emma snarled with rage, snatched a cabbage from the ground, and lobbed it at Hook's smirking face. Hard. The resulting "Oomph!" was like music to her ears.

Next to them, the others hadn't noticed anything.

"Trust a Brandybuck and a Took." Sam was muttering crossly, dusting the sleeves of his coat.

"What?" asked Merry, looking supremely unconcerned. "That was just a detour. A shortcut."

"A shortcut to what, precisely?" snapped Mary-Margaret, who was being helped up by a very pissed-off-looking David.

"Mushrooms!" shouted Pippin.

The three hobbits scrambled over to the objects of their excitement.

Emma was taking deep breaths to calm herself down. Regina was goggling bemusedly at the hobbits.

"What is it with hobbits and mushrooms?" she asked in wonder.

Emma, who had noticed such behaviour concerning mushrooms before during her cooking lessons, simply shrugged.

"I think we should get off the road." called Frodo, who was staring at the path they were on.

Emma and her companions looked too, but failed to see anything out of the ordinary.

"Why?" she asked, puzzled. "It's empty."

Frodo's eyes suddenly widened and a look of panic spread on his face.

"Get off the road!" he shouted.

Emma glanced at her parents, and an unspoken agreement passed between them. They would get off the road, if only to calm Frodo down. Still bewildered, Emma and the others quickly climbed down the small drop on the side of the road. There was a large tree there, with roots forming a roof of sorts when they sat down beneath it. Hook, David, Gold and Regina sat there with their backs to the wall of earth, while Mary-Margaret sat on David's lap, Sam on Regina, Pippin on Hook, and Frodo on Gold. That left Emma and Merry to climb the tree until they could sit between the lowest branches. They sat there, some of them squirming and trying to get more comfortable, others silent, wondering why on earth they were reduced to such a ridiculous situation. The answer came to them in more a direct manner than any of them had expected.

There was the sound of galloping hooves, a brutal halt, and the sudden feeling of having been plunged in a pool of cold water and submerged in despair - the very air they breathed seemed to have turned to ice. Trembling uncontrollably, Emma summoned her strength and courage, and risked a peek around her branch. What she saw only made her blood freeze more.

A rider, swathed in a heavy black cloak, was dismounting a jet-black horse. Its metal boots (for the rider could hardly be described as human) made an ominous thump as they hit the floor. She could hear the hideous creature sniffing, as though it were trying to smell out its prey.

The cold despair that was coursing in her veins instead of her blood now threatened to overwhelm her mind as well. How long Emma waited with bated breath, hoping and praying the rider wouldn't look up, she didn't know. Seconds - perhaps minutes or hours later - she distantly registered someone below her throw something and the black rider suddenly leapt back in chase of the object in question.

Emma and Merry immediately took this opportunity to drop down from their sanctuary, landing with no grace whatsoever on the leaf-strewn ground. Their companions were as pale-faced and shaky as she probably was.

"What was that?" Merry gasped.

Frodo put a hand to his chest and didn't answer.

"Let's go." said Mary-Margaret, still trembling.

They didn't need to be told twice, and they ran off deeper into the forest. They started by running, but slowed down when they had put a fair bit of distance behind them. However, even if their limbs welcomed the slower rate, their minds were constantly on the alert, still recovering from their strange encounter. They were still so nervous and scared that they gradually speed up to a trot again, to finally break out into a flat-out run once more.

At last, when night had fallen and the whole company was so tired they could barely walk any more they stopped, panting.

"Anything?" asked Sam, clutching his ribs.

"Nothing." answered Frodo, hanging onto the bark of a tree.

"What is going on?" gasped Pippin, stumbling over to Frodo.

"That Black Rider was looking for something," Merry stated, looking at his cousin, "or someone."

"Get down!" David hissed.

Over the edge of the hill - illuminated by moonlight - stood the Black Rider, his horse stamping impatiently.

Frodo didn't answer for a few moments, looking like he was deciding what words to choose. Finally, he looked at Merry, determination and fear written across his face.

"My companions and I must get to Bree."

Merry nodded, thankfully accepting Frodo's deliberate lack of explanations. "Right." he said. "Buckleberry ferry. Follow me."

The hobbits and their human companions ran on through the forest, keeping to the shadows and away from the road.

Suddenly, the Black rider burst out from a cluster of dark trees, startling the company. Mary-Margaret screamed, and Emma heard Hook swear. Emma wasn't feeling far from doing so herself, and only acute fear and dread held her tongue.

She stumbled back, desperately trying to avoid the flaying hooves of the Black Rider's horse. While her body was busy trying to save its owner, her mind was racing, searching in vain for a way to fight the creature off. The piercing cries of the Black Rider were driving through her head like spikes. Finally, the answer came to her, so simple and obvious that she almost laughed at herself for not having thought of it before.

Finding a piece of ground that wasn't occupied by her panicking friends or shouting parents, Emma wrenched her gun from the inside pocket of her jacket and pointed it straight at the Rider's - for lack of a better word, for it was hidden - face. She aimed, pulled back the safety catch, and pulled the trigger.

To everyone's disgust, she missed. The bullet went soaring past the Rider to lodge itself in a tree behind it. However, the loud noise frightened the horse, who had never heard such a sound before. The beast reared high on its hind legs and neighed so loudly it resembled Mary-Margaret's scream.

"You missed!" Emma heard Hook yell. "How could you miss?!"

"I didn't see you coming up with anything to fight it!" Emma yelled back furiously.

This tiny lapse of attention from their pursuer was enough for Emma and her companions to escape, ducking and dodging the powerful kicking hooves. They raced to the river, which they could now see behind the thinning trees. On and on they sprinted, fear acting as the best of stimulants. They vaulted over the fence, thundered along the wooden jetty, and leaped on to the ferry which the hobbits and Gold (how he had gotten there first was not something Emma's brain was willing to figure out at the moment) had managed to loosen already. Emma landed hard on the floor of the ferry - which was little more than a few planks of woods lashed together to make a platform - driving the breath from her lungs. She turned around, gasping for breath. David was still running, the Black Rider very close on his heels.

Emma saw Mary-Margaret yelling encouragement at her husband, and heard herself joining in. David reached the end of the jetty, took a massive leap towards the ferry - now several feet from the bank - soared over the water...flew over his companions...and splashed into the water in front of the ferry. He surfaced, gasping and spluttering. The hobbits helped him on, laughing shakily. Mary-Margaret was sobbing with a mixture of shock, relief and fear, and she hugged her husband tightly. David hugged her back, still too out of breath to speak.

With everyone now safely on board, the company turned as one to the river bank they had just left. The black Rider was now galloping off...followed by two others. The companions looked at each other in horror. Three Black Riders?

"This is bloody brilliant." grumbled Hook. "Now it's just a small matter of avoiding the road, life form in general, and those black bastards. Just gets better and better."

Emma couldn't help but silently agree with him.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

The company, some of them still wet and shivering, clambered down from the ferry. It was somewhat of a relief; the ferry had been hobbit-sized, and the six humans and four hobbits had tested its capabilities to their very limit.

They walked on until they found the crossroads, one of which would lead them to Bree. Frodo stopped suddenly, hesitation clear on his pale face.

"What's the matter?" asked Regina shortly. She was tired, wet, and hungry. "Why are we stopping?"

"Well, we won't go to our right: south is not where we want to go; Bree is northeast from here," Frodo said. "So, we either take the road North and follow it until we come to the Brandywine Bridge, and then we go East from there, or we go East into the forest and then cut a path northeast through it."

Merry looked alarmed at his cousin's words.

"Frodo, we can't go into the forest; you know the tales that surround it better than I do!"

Frodo nodded, evidently torn between choosing a dangerous road or a slightly-safer-but-still-very-dangerous road.

Hook frowned.

"What are these tales?" he asked suspiciously. He would never admit it, but those Black Riders had scared him greatly. He'd be damned before he did anything to bring himself closer to anything as...dangerous (he tried hard not to think the word 'scary' ).

Merry shot him a look.

"The Old Forest isn't a normal forest, Captain." he said quietly. "Years ago this forest actually tried to fight against the people of Buckland- grew over the hedge at a rapid pace, and would not stop despite the fact that the residents of Buckland cut it back constantly. It wasn't until they made a great bonfire that the forest finally ceased its attempts to cross the hedge."

"Bloody hell." Hook muttered. "Thinking trees. What next?"

Merry shook his head. "There are creatures in there we definitely do not want to come across."

"Well it's either thinking trees or those Black Riders." said Emma firmly. She folded her arms and surveyed her companions with a beady eye, daring them to contradict her. "If we go through the forest, we almost certainly lose the Black Riders."

Regina scowled. "But the direct road to Bree would make more sense. If we follow it without actually being on it we can get to Bree quicker."

David shook his head at the former queen. "Didn't you see that first one? It knew we were there: it could smell us. We would stand no chance by following the road. I say we go through the forest."

Gold, who had remained silent for the most part since they had left Bag End, spoke up.

"Personally, I think the forest is the best choice. Those Black Riders are unnatural. Their power is immense, and the less we come in contact with them, the better. According to our worthy friends," he nodded at the hobbits "we at least know that the forest contains nothing worse than them. The forest now seems to be the best option."

"How about we vote on it?" suggested Pippin.

Frodo nodded and gestured to Emma and her parents.

David looked at his family, seeking and receiving their consent.

"The forest." he confirmed. "Last I saw those Black Riders had swords, whereas trees are wonderfully bereft of such weaponry."

Frodo nodded, and looked over to Regina and Gold. Regina looked drained and fed up, but also resigned. She nodded, as did Gold.

Hook folded his arms. "I thought you said we would only almost certainly lose them if we went through the forest." he pointed out stubbornly. "I'd not go unless there was a full chance of escaping those things." He kept his face stony, trying hard not to show that he was almost as frightened of going through the forest as he was of the Riders.

Sam, Merry and Pippin all opted to follow the road, their longing for warm beds and a hot meal no doubt influencing their decision, as well as the well-known tales about the Old Forest. Pippin looked pleadingly at Frodo, silently begging him to follow their choice.

Frodo sighed and rubbed his temples. "I am terrified of the Forest." he said, "but even more so of those Black Riders. We will go through the Old Forest."

And so they set off, Hook grumbling and Gold limping. They walked for a couple more miles along hills until they at last reached the wall-like hedge that marked the boundary of the infamous forest.

They entered it through a gap in the hedge, where they found a small clearing in front of the sudden mass of dark and foreboding trees. They settled down for the night and arranged watches - for both the forest and the Riders - before each slumping down and falling into an exhausted sleep.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

At dawn, the sunlight crept through the gap in the hedge, effectively waking all members of the company. They got up without a word, grabbed and apple each, and set off into the mass of trees before them.

Soon, all the bright morning light disappeared under the canopy of the dark green trees, and they were forced to walk on with nothing but a greenish glow around them for guidance. There was no talking; all of them kept to their own thoughts - for the most part anxious. The forest seemed unnaturally quiet, too. The woods near Hobbiton were always twittering, whistling, swishing and chirping, due to all the wildlife in them. The Old Forest though was as quiet as a church; perhaps it reminded the humans of one too, because they were all loath to disturb the peace. At least Emma, Mary-Margaret and Regina had something to keep their focus on: the long dresses the hobbits had given them kept getting caught and tangled in brambles and on branches. Emma cursed under her breath for the tenth time as she wrenched her ridiculously long skirts from a particularly tenacious cluster of thorns.

At one point, however, Hook noticed something strange.

"I thought we were going northeast?" he asked the hobbits in front of them.

"We are." answered Merry.

"Well, then, why are we going northwest?"

Merry shot him an annoyed look over his shoulder.

"There isn't much we can do about it: the trees keep moving together so that we can't go through and change to northeast." he said darkly.

Hook tripped on a root.

"The trees keep...what, sorry?"

"Moving closer together. Blocking us."

Hook laughed, trying, and failing, not to sound nervous.

"Moving trees?" he said disbelievingly. "Who ever heard of such a thing?"

"As you've probably noticed, this isn't what you'd call a normal forest. And there isn't much we can do about it anyway." Merry snapped, his patience wearing thin.

"Moving trees..." muttered Hook, wrenching his hook from a cluster of brambles. "First they're thinking, then they're moving, next they'll be talking."

Merry opened his mouth as though to say something, but seemed to think better of it and closed it again.

They walked on, keeping as close to northeast as possible, but always finding obstacles and thick cluster of trees blocking their way. At last, they emerged from the thick forest onto a bright riverbank.

Squinting in the sudden sunlight, Merry looked up and down the river before them. He looked annoyed and relieved at the same time.

"Well, at least I know where are, now." he said. "This is the Withywindle, which means we are indeed completely off course. We follow the river south until we get out of the forest, then we travel north through the Barrow Downs, and we take the east road to Bree. Then..." he paused.

"Then we shall see what there is to see." completed Frodo. "We should go; the sooner we get out of here, the better."

They followed the little river's course, enjoying the sunlight and the merry bubbling of the water. After ten minute or so, Mary-Margaret and Regina yawned, suddenly struggling to keep their eyes open.

Emma felt her head droop. "I'm tired." she mumbled.

Frodo nodded, his eyes drooping as well. "We can rest under that willow." he suggested, stumbling over to the tree in question. The others followed without question, suddenly to sleepy to do anything other than lie down and find blissful oblivion. Slowly, one by one, they dozed off.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

Emma was walking. She was following a path, the sides of which were strewn with grass and flowers. She was walking, she didn't know where to, and she didn't know why except that she was meant to follow the path. She walked on, feeling content and at peace.

She was just wondering when the path would end when she saw another figure on the path, walking towards her. The figure was small, hobbit-sized. Emma vaguely wondered if it was one of her companions.

The silhouette came closer and closer. At last, Emma could see the face of the little person. Henry's face was smiling at her, looking happy and pleased to see her. Emma grinned back, and she started running to him, arms outstretched. Her son came running to her as well. They met with a crash, each hugging the other tightly. Emma hugged her son, smiling, smiling, feeling at peace with the world. Henry was there, and that was all that mattered.

 

Emma was flying...falling... She heard a splash, and felt a sudden rush of cold...wetness. She opened her eyes, coughing and spluttering, water streaming from her hair and face. She sneezed, the water was freezing. She heard cursing next to her. Regina was sitting in the river as well, swearing at the top of her voice. If Emma wasn't soaking wet and frozen herself, she would have burst out laughing. Hearing Regina swear and oath wasn't something you saw every day.

"That beep tree just beep threw us in the beep river!" Regina shrieked. Her dark hair and long dress were plastered to her face and body, and her eyes were wide and glowering, making her look like a particularly vengeful drowned cat.

Emma supposed she wasn't much better herself. She wrenched a leg from the squelchy mud of the river bed and made very un-graceful exit of the river. Her skirts were clinging around her legs and refusing to relinquish them. She stumbled over to the willow, not sure whether to laugh or follow Regina's example and shriek obscenities at the willow, who was waving merrily at her. She resisted the strange temptation to wave back.

It wasn't until she heard muffled screams that she postponed both options; the screams were coming from inside the willow. Emma ran over in time to see the silver glimmer of Hook's namesake disappear under roots, and Merry and Pippin's green cloaks do likewise. Gold's cane was lying near its owner's vanishing leg.

Panicking, she tugged at the massive roots with all her might, trying in vain to release her companions. She pulled with all her might - finally thumping it with the butt of her gun - all in vain. Mary-Margaret and David were at her side now, pulling and straining at the willow's murderous roots. Emma grabbed Hook's discarded sword and raised her arms, preparing to strike.

"Don't!" came someone's voice from inside the tree. "He says he'll suffocate us if you hack him!"

"They can talk, too?" muttered Emma. "Bloody brilliant."

She turned to Frodo, who was standing there, looking at a complete loss of what to do. "Do something!" she screamed at him.

Frodo looked blank for another moment, before turning on the spot and running to the river.

"Help!" he yelled. "Somebody help us!"

Emma didn't have time to consider the wisdom of such a decision before she felt a crushing pain in her ankle. She looked down and saw in horror that a root had now latched itself on her leg. She cried out in fear, grabbing Mary-Margaret, trying to wrench her limb away from the tree.

At that moment, everyone heard singing coming from the somewhat thinner group of trees slightly apart from the forest. They listened intently, first to identify the singer, then to wonder who on earth would bother to sing such nonsense.

"Hey dol! Merry dol! Ring a dong dillo! Ring a dong! Hop along! Fal lal the willow! Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!"

The panicky companions barely had time to glance at each other bemusedly before the singer came into view. And what a sight he was!

He wore yellow boots, a bright blue coat, and a huge straw hat. A long brown beard framed his merry red face. About a foot higher than the hobbits, he was too tall to be one of them, but also too short to be a Man. He wore a huge smile on his face- an expression that convinced the people of Storybrooke that he was utterly mad.

 

Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!

Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.

Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,

Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,

There my pretty lady is. River-woman's daughter,

Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.

Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing

Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?

Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! and merry-o,

Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o!

Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!

Tom's in a hurry now. Evening will follow day.

Tom's going home again water-lilies bringing.

Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?

"What's wrong, my lads and ladies? What can old Tom do for you?" he said brightly when he had finally stopped singing, hopping over to them. He didn't walk so much as dance, Emma noticed through the haze of pain that was gradually creeping up her leg.

"Our friends are trapped inside that tree," she managed to gasp. "Like my leg. We tried getting them out, but nothing is working!"

The man laughed. "That's it? Old Tom Bom knows all the forest's secrets, knows Old Man Willow's secrets. Naught worse than that? We will have them out soon enough my hearties!"

The man walked - danced- over to the willow, and whispered something that sounded like a song into the bark. 'You let them out again, Old Man Willow!' he said. 'What be you a-thinking of? You should not be waking. Eat earth! Dig deep! Drink water! Go to sleep! Bombadil is talking!' The willow tree shivered, and suddenly out popped Pippin, Merry, Hook, and Gold. They scrambled away from the tree, whose biggest root waggled at them in a way that reminded Emma of the way a tongue did when blowing a raspberry.

Hook shook leaves and dirt from his hair, hastily composing his features in a cool and unconcerned expression.

"Lucky we didn't panic, eh lass?" he said breezily to Emma.

Emma stared back at him in disbelief. "Lucky Mr Bombadil knew what he was doing." she said scathingly.

Hook shrugged and went to pick up his sword, which Emma had thrown aside.

Their companions were crowding around Tom Bombadil, thanking him over and over again for saving their lives. The man waved their thanks away merrily.

"Anytime, no problem here! Old Man Willow always needs a nudge to make him behave!" he laughed in a singsong voice. "Now, you shall come to my home with me! The table is all laden with golden cream, honeycomb, and white bread and butter. Goldberry is waiting. Time enough for questions around the dinner table. Follow me as quick as you can!"

With that, he pranced away, dodging trees and skipping over roots so fast the company had a hard time trying to keep up. They were so busy keeping him within their sight they barely had time to question the man's apparent lunacy. He lead them thus for a short while, and at last they emerged from the forest and saw a green plain, with trees on the edge of the flat land well-kept and the grass short and trimmed. Still they followed the man along the river, until they came to a well-kept house. It was the only building they had seen since well before their encounter with Merry and Pippin, but the cheery lights streaming out of the windows quickly made them forget that. Tom Bombadil stopped at the doorway, opened it and waved them inside. Emma and her companions stepped in, thanking him repeatedly for his kindness. Again, he waved away their thanks and simply helped the women out of their still-damp cloaks, and came to the aid of the hobbits, who were having difficulty extricating themselves from the straps of their backpacks.

Tom Bombadil then lead them to a large room paneled in wood, where stood a large table absolutely heaving with bread, butter, honey, fruit and cream. This heavenly sight was only distracted by a lovely golden-haired woman walking down the stairway that lead upstairs.

"Ah, there's my pretty Goldberry!" said Tom Bombadil fondly. "My dear, let us sit and feast with our guests. Then we shall sit at the fire and tell stories!"

If Emma wasn't feeling so tired and hungry, she might have considered the way Tom Bombadil spoke patronizing and childlike. As it were, their host was so jolly and kind, and Goldberry was so charming and merry that the thought hardly ever crossed her mind.

The company sat at the table and immediately started eating, famished as they were by having trekked almost non-stop for five days. Emma rolled her eyes when she saw Hook eye his goblet of clear water suspiciously and glance at Goldberry.

"Love, you wouldn't happen to have any ale or rum, eh?" he asked hopefully.

Emma nearly choked on her grapes. David, she couldn't help but notice, also looked up eagerly, and Emma herself wasn't feeling averse to something stronger after all the emotions of the past few days. Mary-Margaret frowned, but didn't say anything.

However, Goldberry just smiled kindly.

"Nay, for we only drink water from the stream and the dew of morning light. But come! We have milk with honey and spices. The juice of our berries is just as quenching!"

Hook nodded gloomily and returned to his plate while Emma snickered quietly.

"So! How about introductions my hearties, then, eh?" suggested Tom. "I'll go first, shall I? Tom Bombadil, Master of wood, water and hill, and spouse to the fair Goldberry."

"Then you own these lands?" asked Emma curiously.

Tom chuckled. "Oh, goodness! no, little lady. They all own themselves, I am simply their master." Still chuckling, he gestured to David to continue. David obliged.

"David Nolan, and this is my wife Mary-Margaret. And our - "

Emma cut across him. "Emma Swan."

Frodo was next. "Frodo Baggins is my name, and this is Samwise Gamgee. My cousins here are Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took." he said, as each hobbit waved cheerily when their name was mentioned.

"Captain Hook." said Hook with a smirk and a slight bow. Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Regina Mills."

"Gold."

If Tom found any of their names strange or Gold's deliberate omission of details he did not say so, and instead continued to chat gaily with them. Mary-Margaret and Goldberry were becoming fast friends, chattering away light-heartedly, while Regina kept mostly to herself and vaguely listened to their host's talk. David and Gold were talking to Tom about the lands around the Old Forest, and Hook was eyeing his goblet hopefully, as though expecting it to fill with drink at any moment. Emma chatted with the hobbits, enjoying her food but thinking of bed more and more longingly.

At last, everyone was sated and Goldberry bade them goodnight and 'dreams of light and wonder'. The company went to sit by the fireplace, where a roaring fire and cozy armchairs were waiting for them. Most of them sank into one of these, while Mary-Margaret and David curled up together on a two-person couch. Emma chose to sit cross-legged on the thick carpet near the fire, where she was soon joined by Sam and Pippin. Tom sat in the biggest armchair and settled himself comfortably.

"Well now, my hearties! This is the right night to tell stories and hear much singing. Old Tom will start."

And so he opened his mouth and told them many stories, and his voice often rose to a singing pitch. He told them a great number of tales, first about the woods, then the rivers, waterfalls, and the sun. As they listened, the companions began to understand the ways of the woods, the thoughts of trees - riddled with malice and pride by the slow passing of years - and the role of Tom among them all.

Emma watched the strange man prance around, dancing along to his stories and songs. She realized how ridiculous and annoying she would have found him had she still been in Storybrooke, how silly she would have thought his manners of speech and behaviour. Strangely though, they had no effect on her tonight, except perhaps slight amusement as he tapped the rhythm through a particularly nonsensical poem.

At last, it transpired, Tom seemed to run out of stories, and he whisked them all off to bed, leading to two separate rooms: "one for the lovely ladies, and one for these merry lads, my hearties!"

The sight of the deep mattresses and soft thick blankets were like heaven to Emma. Tom showed them where they could wash, then bade them good night. Emma washed herself as best as she could with the simple basin and cloth, then literally sank into her bed, the padding deliciously molding her tired limbs. She was visiting Sandman before her head hit the pillow.

  
  


0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

The next day, each member of the company woke to the sound of raindrops pitter-pattering on the window. The day was indisputably wet, and so the company stayed indoors for the most part, either resting or finding relaxing activities to keep themselves occupied. The meals their hosts presented them with were once again huge and delicious, and the company took full advantage of it, having had only fruit and a bit of meat over the last few days.

Mary-Margaret was soon helping Goldberry with her household duties, during which they could be heard chatting and laughing. Tom would also be there and tell them all story after story by the fireside, keeping boredom at bay with his singsong voice and ridiculous lyrics. And when their hosts were occupied, the hobbits would introduce the others to games either of their devising or from the very foundations of the Shire. Gold was pleasantly surprised that Middle-Earth had chess in it; the fact that such a classic game had transcended worlds lifted all the strangers' spirits and filled them with hope. It was like a tiny glimpse of home, a glimmer of light and hope for the future.

That night they gathered by the fireplace again, the humans bracing themselves once more for the seemingly-unstoppable flow of stories they were about to go through again. The hobbits seemed to enjoy them, but the more Emma rested and recovered her strength, the more unbearable Tom's manners of speech and being became to her. His weird speech patterns and patronizing ways irritated her even more than Hook's constant teasing and innuendos, which was saying something - Hook was now sporting a black eye for reasons easily guessed.

That night, however, instead of standing in front of the fire to start his long monologue, Tom sat in his armchair and bade them to tell their own story. The six from Storybrooke looked at each other, worried and hesitant. How much were they to reveal?

Fortunately, whether Frodo saw their anxious looks or simply fancied himself a storyteller, he gave a short and simplified account of their story in their stead. He then went on to recount the brief outline of Bilbo's party, Gandalf's hurried departure, the six's stay in Bag End, and finally Gandalf's extraordinary tale of the Ring and the terrible consequences it carried.

Tom looked interested every time Frodo mentioned the Ring, and held out a ruddy hand when Frodo finished his tale.

"Ah, my lad, you must now show me this precious ring!"

To his astonishment, Frodo pulled out the Ring from his breast pocket and dropped it in Tom's outstretched palm. As soon as the golden glint of the Ring became visible, every single member of the company from the Shire felt an untameable rush of desire for it. Emma was entranced; the Ring seemed to be whispering to her, calling her name, promising her its power would find and save Henry. With it she could control the world...

Tom closed his palm, and immediately everyone snapped back to reality. Tom put the Ring on his middle finger, and to everybody's amazement he didn't vanish as Bilbo had but stayed solid and visible. He laughed, took it off, fiddled with it, threw it into the air, caught it again, made it reappear in his other hand, and all without the slightest show of desire. As Tom laughed again and handed the Ring back to Frodo, ten pairs of eyes followed his movements, each wishing they were its bearer.

The eyes that stayed fixed on it longest however, were those of Gold, an expression of utmost lust and desire on his face. He quickly rearranged his features as soon as the Ring disappeared, but Emma had seen it already.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

The company stayed with Tom Bombadil and Goldberry for three days before they decided to continue their journey to Bree. They awoke on the morning of the fourth to a bright sunrise, the air tinged with the rain-and-leaf smell of early autumn. Emma groaned as she got up; no more soft mattresses. Instead, they'd be walking and climbing hills again. Simply spiffing.

Tom hosted their last meal together then lead them outside, where stood what seemed to the company a whole contingent of ponies. The sweet little creatures glanced at them placidly, whinnying a welcome and looking curiously at the little crowd before them.

The ten companions looked at Tom in bewilderment. Predictably, for he seemed to do this before each time he spoke, Tom laughed.

"Come, now, my hearties! Let not morning sun catch you up! Up you get, up you get, and Old Tom will lead you to the barrow downs. Yes, the barrow downs, from whence you will then trot merrily along to Bree, village of men."

Ah. So the ponies were meant for the ten companions to ride on. At this sudden understanding, both Regina and Mary-Margaret brightened considerably, and immediately ran over to the nearest ponies and stroked them gently, whispering words of greeting and encouragement to their new steeds. David happily approached a feisty-looking dappled grey, giving it the rest of the apple he'd been eating at breakfast.

Others, though, weren't feeling quite so chipper; Hook was staring dubiously at a jet-black pony as though he was sure such a tiny thing wouldn't be able to carry his weight. Gold had managed to get close to and stroke a cream-coloured mare, but was looking daunted at the greater challenge of actually straddling her. Merry and Pippin were fighting over who got which pony, and Frodo was mounting a peaceful bay, while Sam was repeatedly running backwards from his, who seemed intent on getting a chunk out of him.

As for Emma, she cautiously made her way over to a palomino, who was looking at her curiously. She stretched out a hand - palm out flat, as Henry had taught her at the stables. The palomino sniffed it daintily, no doubt looking for a piece of sugar, and nuzzled her empty hand hopefully.

Emma had just decided that they were alright, really, horses, when she suddenly felt herself being lifted up and flung onto the pony's back. She let out a yelp, which startled her mount into a brisk trot. Clinging on for sheer life as well as dignity, Emma finally managed to stick her feet in the stirrups and straighten herself. She grabbed the reins, pulling as hard as she dared, managing to stop before the pony carried her off too far. Furious at the person who had thrown her on, Emma wrenched her pony around, only to see David rolling on the floor roaring with laughter, and the hobbits in danger of falling off their own steeds from laughing so much.

Glaring at all of them, her face scarlet, Emma kicked her pony to a brisk walk towards her companions. Mary-Margaret was still giggling, her hand over her mouth, and even Regina looked amused.

To save herself the embarrassment of looking at any of them, Emma turned to Tom instead, thanking him warmly for his hospitality and his generous idea of lending them the ponies.

"Anytime, dear lady, anytime!" he boomed. "Tom will show you were to go, until you reach the borders of these lands, where these ponies will leave you and find their way back to me. Off you go, my hearties!"

And so, they set off. The rising sun warming their backs, the fresh early-autumn breeze caressing the backs of their necks and the sweet after-rain smell refreshing their still-drowsy bodies.

They continued thus for many hours, plodding along on their mild steeds, enjoying the countryside as they stopped to have lunch. They still had their packs full of provisions with them from the Shire, and Tom had also been kind enough to supply them with more bread and apples. He's also lent the six humans cloaks when he'd seen their other-worldly clothing - which wasn't very adapted to the climate of Middle-Earth - although he only laughed when they had asked how was it he'd had six large spare cloaks lying around. Anyhow, the cloaks came in useful when they reached the last hills of the barrow downs near sunset, when a chilly wind made its presence known.

At last, the boundaries of the barrow downs - marked by a row of large white stones - came into view. By now heavy clouds had rolled over the whole of the sky, and it had started to drizzle. The ponies walked them steadily to the very edge of the line then stopped as one. The ten companions clambered off their mounts, some more stiffly than others; Emma smirked as Hook stumbled and fell in a muddy puddle.

When they had removed all their packs from the backs of the ponies, the little creatures whinnied a farewell and galloped back in the opposite direction, to return to their master.

Groaning as the drizzle became downright rain, Emma hitched a backpack on, mentally readying herself for the wet and muddy walk ahead of them. Frodo had said there would be at least two miles east to walk before the would reach Bree.

They set off, staying off the road and instead walking along it, out of sight behind the trees. The rain steadily increased to a heavy downpour, and the whole company were soon wet through. Emma was sure she would have emerged drier had she climbed out of a swimming pool.

"So what is it like, Bree?" she asked in an attempt to alleviate their spirits by making conversation, not that she had much hope.

"It's a village that has both human and hobbit inhabitants," Merry answered, "many of my family members occasionally travel there for trade. It's known to be quite respectable, although of course every town will have its negative aspect."

"Well I don't think it could have worse than dark wizards, an angry dragon or a rampaging giant running about." Emma muttered, and immediately regretted her words; Sam looked at her curiously, but made no comment. Fortunately the other hobbits didn't seem to have heard her.

At last, two hours after sundown, for the road had indeed been muddy, they reached a large wooden facade, which Frodo said was the main entrance gate to Bree.

The rain now positively tipping down, the ten companions looked furtively to both sides of the road, then ran over to the gate. Emma, being the closest, raised a hand and knocked loudly on the large peep-through. A couple of seconds later, a grizzled old man with a large nose opened it suspiciously. When he saw the face of a woman he opened the whole door quickly. He looked surprised at seeing her there, and even more so to see the large group behind her.

"What do you want?" he grumbled.

"We're heading for the Prancing pony." answered Frodo.

"Hobbits!" the man exclaimed as he noticed Frodo's stature, sounding more surprised than ever. "Four hobbits and six human companions. Straight from the Shire too, judging by your talk. What business brings you to Bree?"

"We wish to stay at the Inn." Emma said curtly, fed up of standing in the rain. "Our business is our own."

"Alright, young missy, I meant no offence." the watchman grumbled, shuffling back to let them through. " 'S my job to ask questions after nightfall. There's been talk of strange folk abroad; can't be too careful."

The ten stepped into Bree and walked up the road, looking around for the sign of the Prancing Pony. The village of Bree was the first normal-looking establishment the six from Storybrooke had seen since their arrival in Middle-Earth. Everything did seem to have been designed around the middle-ages though, and the citizens appeared to play the part, too: every human they saw as the searched for the inn was filthy, soaked, and in all manners repulsive. Emma once even stumbled back into David because a fat man eating a carrot burped in her face.

At last, Merry spotted a large faded sign with, unsurprisingly, a prancing horse on it. Sighing with relief, the ten companions entered the building, removing hoods and shaking water from their faces.

Frodo approached the counter and attracted someone's attention. A chubby, ruddy-faced, burly middle-aged man leaned over, having to look twice before he spotted Frodo.

"Oh, good evening, little master!" he exclaimed brightly. "Butterbur's the name, at you service. If you're be looking for accommodation we have very nice, cozy, hobbit-sized rooms if you'd like, Mr - er..." he paused, looking enquiringly at Frodo.

"... Underhill." Frodo stuttered. "My name is Underhill."

Butterbur looked thoughtful. "Underhill, hmm..."

"We'd like some regular human-sized rooms too, please." Frodo continued quickly. "We're friends of Gandalf the Grey, can you tell him we've arrived?"

Butterbur frowned, thinking. It looked like hard work.

"Gandalf ?... Gandalf... Oh, yes. Elderly chap, big grey beard, pointy hat." he said triumphantly, looking at Frodo for confirmation.

The latter nodded eagerly.

Butterbur frowned a little again, this time in confusion.

"Not seen him in six months."


	5. Strider

Crestfallen and totally discouraged, the ten companions numbly let themselves be guided to their rooms, where they dumped their packs and luggage. The three women were sharing a room, the men another, and the hobbits were allocated a room to themselves as well.

Emma plonked herself of the squeaky mattress, refusing to believe the evidence that their sole reason for coming here had in fact let them down; without Gandalf, what were they going to do now?

"Do you think he's been delayed?" asked Mary-Margaret anxiously.

"Oh, he's undoubtedly been delayed." said Regina flatly, folding her scarf and laying it carefully on her bed. "Otherwise he'd be here, wouldn't he?"

Emma looked pensively up at the ceiling, where there was an interesting mixture of cobwebs and plaster cracks, making almost marble-like patterns.

"I just hope he hasn't got hurt," continued Mary-Margaret, now wringing her hands in worry, "he seemed such a nice old man."

Emma shrugged. "He's a wizard; he probably has a good reason for being late.” she said, trying to reassure herself as well as her friend... mother... roommate. Emma frowned, frustrated at her reluctant brain; she was going to have to get a grip on herself one of these days and start referring to David and Mary-Margaret as her parents, no matter how awkward or painful it was for her pride and memory.

Exhausted and still damp as the three women undoubtedly were, they were also very hungry and in need of warmth, as the room had no fireplace. So Emma and Mary-Margaret went down together, Regina having assured them she would join them later.

"More likely she doesn't want to look like she's friends with us." muttered Emma as she and Mary-Margaret walked down the creaky old staircase. Mary-Margaret nodded sadly in agreement.

The two women found their companions around a large wooden table, each with a pint of beer in front of them - in Hook's case, three - and gloomy looks on their features. They joined them wordlessly, and the group sat there in silence for a few minutes. Merry then came to join them, looking thrilled and carefully carrying a large frothing mug, which he set down reverently as he reached the table.

"What's that?" Pippin demanded, goggling at the large mug.

"This, my friend, is a pint." said Merry gleefully.

"It comes in pints?"

"Mm!" sounded Merry, now gulping the sacred drink down. Translation: "Yep!"

"I'm getting one." Pippin immediately said, abandoning his seat and half-finished mug of ale to make his way over to the bar.

As Pippin scurried off to get his drink, Sam leaned in towards Frodo. "That fellow's done nothing but stare at you since we arrived." he said, pointing at the far corner of the room.

Frodo and Emma glanced discretely in the direction Sam had pointed. A man, hooded and cloaked, face hidden in the shadows, was smoking a pipe. He was indeed also unabashedly staring at Frodo.

Frodo nudged Butterbur, who was bustling by, carrying a tray full of mugs.

"Excuse me," he whispered, "That man in the corner. Who is he?"

Butterbur looked, then turned back to Frodo, looking nervous. "He's one of them Rangers, from the North." he muttered. "Dangerous folk they are, roaming the wilds. What his right name is I've never heard, but around here he's known as Strider."

"Strider." Frodo said vaguely, staring into nothingness. Emma suspected he was fiddling with the Ring, because both his hands were under the table, and Frodo seemed to be far away in his thoughts. Ignoring as best as she could the sudden urge to dive under and grab it for herself, she instead turned her attention to a friendly hobbit waiter, who was complaining to Sam about the bizarre clients he sometimes had in his inn.

" - 'ad a lady in 'ere as well, looked like a blimming 'aradrim princess. Dark skin, long back 'air. ‘Ad a man with 'er, though 'e was jest your ordinary chap; quite pale, see. 'E 'ad a strange accent, though, 'bit like your friends’, so not from ‘ere, obviously. A married couple, I thought, 'cause they were talking 'bout a kid they had wiv 'em. Didn' see 'im, though. Would've liked ter see the offspring of an East and West couple though, shame..."

Emma choked on her drink, spraying Sam, who was in front of her. She grabbed the hobbit's shirt, jerking him backwards.

"What did you say?" she asked croakily. "Who did you see?"

He stared at her, bewildered by the urgency in her voice and the intensity of her glare.

"Like I said, young ma'am." he said nervously. "A couple; one dark, one pale. They had a kid wiv 'em, judging by their talk - strange accent too."

"When did you see them?" Emma said weakly, her heart hammering at her chest.

"Why - a week or so, maybe - pr'aps nine days." he said, actually quite liking all the attention now that the whole table was listening. "Seemed mighty tired, looked like they were trav'lling, see. Old master Butterbur sometimes don't trust 'is memory, so 'e might not be able ter confirm, but these fellas were 'bout as memorable as flying olliphaunts." he chuckled, and moved away to wait on his other clients.

Emma exchanged an incredulous look with her parents; could luck have favoured them at last? Could luck - pure luck, lead them to her son? Greg and Tamara here in Middle-Earth... Proof at last! Emma looked at the hobbit again, now handing Pippin a large mug of ale. She glanced back at Mary-Margaret, wordlessly asking for her opinion. He mother nodded encouragingly, and Emma climbed off the bench and headed straight for the little waiter. She cornered him at the end of the bar once he'd finished serving a client.

"What else do you know of them? Speak!" she demanded the now-positively-alarmed hobbit, echoing Gandalf.

"I - well...just that...they - er," he spluttered, "they said...they said somm'ing about getting food fer the boy - yes, the kid was a boy - and...that they'd have ter leave soon, to go somewhere..." he stuttered, sweat now beading on his forehead, highly uncomfortable at being interrogated so fiercely - and by a woman, at that.

"Where? Where did they say they were going?" Emma exclaimed, her mind racing, her heart beating a tattoo on the inside of her chest.

"Well...I...I don' know!" the little hobbit wailed. "they didn' say exactly...poor old Nob, 'is memory isn' as good as when 'e was young either - they said somm'ing...somm'ing about walking east for a while, and about a Ford, and..."

He paused, looking suspiciously at Emma, who was still holding the front of his shirt like a vice.

" 'Ere," he said, a little more loudly. "Why's you int'rested 'bout them, eh? Just innocent travellers, 'ent they?"

Emma's brain was racing ahead, so she barely registered the hobbit's sudden change in attitude. Her auto-concealing nature immediately kicked in though, spinning an excuse before she even had to think about it.

"Oh...sorry. I didn't mean to sound angry." she said, smiling apologetically. "it's just... they're our friends, and we were supposed to meet them here; but we were delayed, so the fact that they aren't waiting for use here kind of made us worry." she finished, smiling sweetly at the hobbit, who cheered up instantly.

"Oh, well in that case... Well ma'am, I jest 'eard 'em say somefink 'bout going towards the Ford." he said. "But nothin' else, ma'am, honest!" he finished nervously, clearly frightened Emma would grab his shirt again.

Emma smiled at him, releasing him and apologising again for her gruffness.

"Thank you very much for your help." she added. "I'm so grateful - really."

The hobbit smiled nervously at her in return, then scurried off to serve more impatient clients. Vaguely wondering how hobbits in Middle-Earth could have the same accent than people from the outskirts of London, Emma made her way dazedly back to the table. Most of her mind was reeling with the information she'd just extricated from the hobbit, and the hope - along with all the worry that had died down slightly since their arrival - was coming back tenfold.

She quickly recounted what she'd learned to her companions. David and Margaret grinned, happy to be back on a trail; Hook however, didn't even look remotely hopeful or excited, and opened his mouth to say something.

"What?" snapped Emma before he could speak. "Going to say we're not even sure it's them that hobbit saw?"

"No. Actually I was going to say that I hoped your boy was alright." he replied coolly. "Because if they're not even letting him see other people, he's as good as their prisoner. And from my experience, prisoners don't usually get treated very well."

Emma barely had time to digest that new and rather morbid side of things before they heard a familiar voice shouting exactly what it shouldn't be.

"Baggins? Sure, I know a Baggins! He's over there; Frodo Baggins. He's my first cousin once removed on his mother's side, and my fourth cousin -"

"Pippin! Be quiet!" cried Frodo, rushing over to his talkative cousin. He grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back.

Pippin stumbled and almost dropped his pint. "Steady on, Frodo!" he sputtered, foam and ale dripping from his face.

Frodo, thrown off balance by Pippin's stumble, slipped, fell...and disappeared into thin air.

Everyone who saw the incident gasped, and cries of astonishment resounded across the inn. "Where'd'e go?" Nob was shouting, bobbing behind the counter, trying to get a look.

Frodo's companions, who by now had understood this had been Bilbo's trick, were less surprised, but just as concerned as to the hobbit's whereabouts. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw someone - a very tall someone - get up and march to where Frodo had disappeared. She looked more carefully, and recognised the someone to be the Ranger Butterbur had mentioned earlier - Strider.

Suddenly, Frodo reappeared under a table, looking thoroughly relieved.

Tapping Sam, Pippin, and Merry on the arm, Emma discretely pointed at the Ranger, who by now had grabbed Frodo by the arm and started hauling him away from the room. He dragged him to the small staircase Emma and her mother had come down earlier and pushed him up the stairs.

Emma got up as quietly as she could (not that anyone would have heard her if she'd not been careful - the room was still buzzing with Frodo's disappearance) and followed the pair upstairs, the three hobbits tailing her closely. She nicked an inebriated Hook's sword on her way, preferring to face a Ranger with at least some sort of weapon. The hobbits seemed to be thinking along the same lines: Emma saw Merry and Pippin pick up a stool and a candlestick respectively, and Sam crack his knuckles.

Together, they crept up the stairs and slowly advanced in the corridor, listening for voices or anything that could give away Frodo and his abductor's location. Emma pressed her ear gently to each door, before at last hearing low voices in one of them. Adrenalin now coursing through her veins, she waved the hobbits over and kicked the door open, brandishing Hook's sword.

The Ranger whirled around, pointing a sword of his own at her with astonishing speed. Emma was surprised to see how - well...un-evil he looked. She'd imagined someone much like the unkempt men drinking downstairs. He was indeed very tall, had a lean frame, longish dark hair that was seriously in need of a wash, and piercing grey eyes.

For his part, he looked startled to see a woman before him, and his surprise turned to bewilderment as Sam waved his fists in front of the man, shouting "Let him go or I'll have you, Longshanks!"

The man recovered quickly however and sheathed his sword again. He even smiled grimly.

"You have a stout heart, little hobbit. But that will not save you." He turned to Frodo. "You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They are coming."

At that moment, Mary-Margaret, David, Hook and Gold rushed inside the room. Well, Hook stumbled in. He had to lean against the door for support.

"We thought we heard raised voices." explained Mary-Margaret in response to her daughter's raised eyebrows.

"Just as well we did, really." added David, eyeing Strider darkly.

The Ranger raised his hands - the universal gesture of surrender and peace. This only made Emma even more suspicious, and she raised Hook's sword even higher.

"Peace." Strider said quietly. "I mean no harm to any of you. Least of all to Frodo."

"What makes you think we'll believe you?" Emma shot at him, inwardly cringing at how cliché she sounded.

"Well, for a start Frodo is here, perfectly unharmed." Strider said dryly. "I can assure you I'd have had had plenty of time to hurt him had I wanted to do so while we were alone."

"What do you want?" David growled.

"A little more caution from all of you." Strider said. "You have drawn far too much attention to yourselves already. Forcing information out of a hobbit, talking about relatives to complete strangers and disappearing inexplicably in front of two dozen witnesses are hardly discrete." he finished admonishingly.

Emma's sole response to this was a raised eyebrow.

"Also," Strider continued quickly, probably realizing he wasn’t making any friends here, "I am a friend of Gandalf the Grey. He told me he would meet you at the Prancing Pony in Bree, and also what one of the Halflings who travelled with you would be carrying."

Emma lowered the sword slightly, listening with all her might to the man's words. Her lying detector wasn't ringing any alarm bells, and indeed the man looked honest.

"Emma, what are you doing?" cried Mary-Margaret. "You heard Butterbur, he's dangerous! We can't go around trusting people as soon as they say they're friends with Gandalf!"

Emma bit her lip. Her mother had a point; she shouldn't trust too easily, especially not in a world she knew next to nothing about. And yet...

"He says he knows what Frodo carries." Emma said slowly, still not letting her gaze leave the Ranger and knowing full well she had just confirmed that Frodo was indeed carrying something.

Mary-Margaret hesitated, looking like she wanted to find another reason for not trusting Strider, but Gold beat her to it.

"The friend of a friend isn't necessarily our friend, Miss Swan." he argued. "We are here for one reason and one only: to meet the wizard. We mustn't go anywhere or with anyone else."

Before Emma could respond however, Strider spoke again.

"Before you make a hasty judgment of me, at least hear the words I have to say." he said urgently. "I took Mr Baggins (Yes, I know he's really called Baggins) out of the common room because believe or not, those men down there aren't all villagers enjoying a drink. A lot of them are being paid for keeping their eyes peeled for you; the old gatekeeper, a few men of the South, and that old crook Bill Ferny. Frodo has already almost disappeared; making him vanish from an inn would hardly be a difficult feat."

Emma's grip on the sword shifted uneasily. "We're being followed?" she asked, frowning.

Strider shook his head. "Not followed, no. But you're wanted, searched for."

"And you're a friend of Gandalf, you say?" asked Frodo suspiciously. "You know him?"

"As well as anyone can know a wizard." Strider said with a queer smile. "But yes, I do. It was on his request that I have been keeping a lookout for you here for four days. He said if he was not there then he had been delayed, and that I was instead to lead you the rest of the way."

"Rest of the way?" asked Emma weakly. More walking? "What d'you mean, rest of the way? We've been walking for five bloody days!"

Strider shook his head impatiently.

"Later." he said. "We need to hurry, we have little time. I know what hunts you, and they were summoned when Frodo put the Ring on - Yes, I also know of the Ring - and they will be here within an hour."

The sword Emma was carrying was now pointing at the ground. "Black Riders." she whispered.

Strider nodded grimly and opened his mouth to explain more, but was interrupted by the arrival of Regina, who was looking annoyed and worried.

"There you are!" she said crossly. "You said you'd all be downst-" she stopped when she saw Strider and Emma's drawn sword. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Who are you?"

"A friend of Gandalf. He - " Frodo started to explain, but was cut off by Strider, who was shaking his head again. "Later. You are all in grave danger, we need to move. Now."

  
  


0o0o0o0o0o0

 

Fifteen minutes later, they were all - Strider included - in a room of the inn opposite the Prancing Pony. It was a regular room, but eleven people with seven of them being fully-grown adults made space very scant. The four hobbits were dozing on the large bed while David and Mary-Margaret were sitting on a single bed nodding off in each others' arms. Hook was sitting on a chair near the door - sleeping the ale off - and Gold was on another next to the window, opposite Strider. Emma and Regina were sitting next to each other on the other single bed. Emma had told Regina in whispers about what she'd learned about Greg and Tamara. Regina had brightened considerably, and the two were currently wracking their brains to figure out what their next step could be.

They were debating in whispers what the 'Ford' they had learned about could possibly be, when Strider suddenly raised a hand to silence them. They stopped talking immediately, knowing that their hunters had found them at last. They waited with bated breath, and heard the sound of galloping hooves, which came to a sudden stop in front of their inn.

A sudden wave of cold and despair overwhelmed the inhabitants of the small room, and they all found themselves frozen still, unable to move with fright.

They heard clattering metal boots thundering into the inn across from them. Still they waited. All the humans – except Hook – were alert and wary. The hobbits, though, were sleeping peacefully by now, and the cold despair apparently had no effect on them in their sleep.

Suddenly, an inhumane shriek – several inhumane shrieks – resounded across the town, easily reaching the ears of the company. The hobbits and Hook jerked awake, looking around fearfully for the source of the noise.

Frodo sat up, looking at Strider.

“What are they?” he asked quietly, voicing everybody’s thoughts.

Strider looked up from the window, his face grim.

“They were once men.” he said softly. “Great kings of men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of Power. One by one, they fell into darkness, blinded as they were by their greed and desire for power. They are slaves to his will now. They are the Nazgúl – Ringwraiths - neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to its power. They will never stop hunting you.”

On that rather gloomy end note, the company settled down again as best as they could, trying to get some sleep before another trying day ahead of them.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

Emma stumbled to a tree, clinging to it, feeling like her legs were about to either burn away or collapse beneath her. Each breath she struggled to suck in was like driving a knife through her ribs, and she could barely stand for tiredness.

It was the tenth hill at least they had climbed that day, and this one was particularly steep. There was only one good thing about their current climb: Hook was so out of breath himself that he didn’t have any left to slide in infuriating innuendos or snide comments on anybody’s physical fitness.

They had left Bree at dawn that morning, walking out the gate before the sun had even risen. It had taken tugs, pushes, and finally a cup of cold water to get Emma out of the cosy bed she had been sleeping in, and she was none too pleased to start walking all day again. Indeed, the only thing that kept her going was the thought of Henry. The few vague things she had learned of his whereabouts the night before had rekindled a fire of hope in her again. She kept telling herself that the more land they covered, the more chances they had of finding him. Regina was in much the same state, although her status as former queen (mostly secret in this world) kept her from swearing or grumbling as much - and badly - as Emma was.

They were in the middle of climbing their eleventh hill when Merry struck up the same conversation they’d had five times before.

“But how do we know this Strider really is a friend of Gandalf?” he asked for the umpteenth time.

Mary-Margaret sighed in exasperation. The hobbit just wouldn’t drop the subject.

“Because,” she said as patiently and as quietly as she could, “he knows about the Ring, he knows that Frodo’s the one carrying it, and he knows that Gandalf was meeting us in Bree. I don’t think someone like Gandalf would confide such secrets to someone he didn’t completely trust.”

“But how do we know he’s really leading us to where Gandalf wanted us to go?” Merry persisted.

Mary-Margaret resisted the strong temptation of facepalming. Her education as a princess was only just about planted firmly enough in her mind to restrain her from such behaviour. Just.

“I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer, but feel fouler.” said Frodo quietly.

Emma, who was right behind him, snorted (She hadn’t received any princess education). Those Nazgúl hadn’t seemed very fair to her.

“He’s foul enough.” Merry mumbled.

“Be that as it may,” said Frodo calmly, “we have no choice but to trust him.”

“Should I take it that I look foul but feel fair then, Masters Meriadoc and Baggins?” called Strider, who was way ahead of them - at the front, in fact, of the whole company. He didn’t turn around, but Emma though she could hear the smile in his voice. Merry and Frodo blushed slightly.

Five minutes later, it was Sam who took up Merry’s lead to be annoyingly persistent.

“But where’s he leading us?” he asked for the tenth time.

“To Rivendell, Master Gamgee.” answered Strider, who once again seemed to have developed super-human hearing.

“Did you hear that? Rivendell! We’re going to see the elves!”

Emma smiled at the hobbit’s enthusiasm, though she was sure she’d misheard him; surely he didn’t say ‘elves’?

She was soon distracted by that line of thought, however, when Pippin decided to smack the pony’s flank – they’d bought him in Bree just before they’d left. The pony – a skinny, gangrel creature - visibly used to such treatment, immediately darted forward and knocked over David and Sam. It took them ten minutes to catch up with the pony - whom Sam had christened Bill – and none of them were particularly pleased with Pippin when they finally had.

All day, they walked. At night they stopped under a large oak to sleep, and set off again early in the morning. Most of the company was silent by now, either too tired to summon the energy to talk or simply wary of the hobbits’ never-ending conversations about pipeweed and mushrooms. It was safer to say nothing, that way they couldn’t get started.

They walked thus for another day-and-a-half, until they reached a bog Strider called “the Midgewater Marshes”.

They were aptly named, Emma thought wryly, as she slapped at her face continually to swipe out any inquisitive insects.

“What do they eat” - slap – “when they can’t get” – slap – “hobbit?” called Merry.

“Humans.” – slap - answered Emma flatly.

That night, they stopped on a reasonably dry stretch of land – hard mud with long coarse grass and a few plants growing on it. The group lied down, once more exhausted by the day’s walking. Emma, however, couldn’t sleep. Tired as she was, she simply couldn’t shut her eyes and get them to remain so.

The moonlight illuminated everything around her, and she saw Strider clearly. He was obviously just coming back from a hunting session: he had a large deer slung over his shoulder and still held a bow in his hand.

She watched him in silence as he lowered the animal to the ground and started to empty its innards, cleaning the meat and separating bits from others, putting yet some more aside for cooking. It was a long, messy business from what Emma could see; it took him at least an hour.

Only when had he completely finished did he wash his hands, sit down and light a pipe of his own. He had his back to her, but she could see the smoke rising from his dark silhouette. She heard snatches of a melody he was humming, and she liked it. She didn’t recognise the tune of course - otherwise that would just be creepy - but she liked the sound of the long, wavering notes intermitted with sweet little tunes. The overall effect though, was one of great sadness and loss. The song was obviously a lament. In her world, medieval laments were usually about beautiful young heroes who fell in love with each other but who could never truly be together. She wondered if it was the same here.

“Who is she?” she whispered almost before she’d thought it. “This woman you sing of?”

Strider didn’t turn around, but he stopped humming.

“ ‘Tis the tale of the Lady Lúthien.” he murmured, “An elf maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal.”

“Let me guess: she died?” said Emma.

Strider nodded sadly. He turned around this time.

“You should get some sleep, Emma.” He said softly.

Emma shrugged.

“That’s just it,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I can’t. I’ve tried. Must be these damn legs; they’ve had too much walking and they’ve found a way to tell me they don’t want to do any more.”

If Strider found her manner of speech odd, he gave no indication of it. He merely smiled a little and turned back to staring in front of him. They were silent for a few minutes.

“You’re worried about your son.” Strider said. It wasn’t a question.

Surprised, Emma looked up at him.

“How did you – oh, right. The hearing thing.”

She felt stupid. Strider had already shown them on a few occasions that he could hear better than them. She supposed he had heard her speculations with Regina that night at the inn.

“Well – yeah, I’m worried about him. Of course I am; what mother wouldn’t be?” she mumbled, very conscious of the fact that she had been that mother less than two years ago. “Not really worried for his safety, though. He’s a bright boy: I’ve seen him get out of tight spots on more than one occasion. And I don’t think they’d harm him, they have no reason to.”

She was mostly talking to herself by now, barely conscious that Strider too was listening.

“But you worry because he is your son.” Strider said quietly.

Emma said nothing, but nodded. She was slightly taken aback by this guy’s attitude; first he abducted Frodo, then he pledged his service as a guide to them, then he was helping her sort out her fears for Henry. It was completely unexpected, but Emma found she welcomed it.

“I’m just scared I’ll never see him again.” she whispered. “That almost happened a few months ago, and… I’d never get over it.”

Strider nodded understandingly.

“When I was but a child,” he started, “my mother was always concerned for my safety; whenever I was out hunting or didn’t come back for a few days, she would get scared, and she remained so until I came back. As I grew up, I found out that this world indeed had reasons for her to worry about my welfare – people as well as creatures. I grew in both mind and body, strengthening and training in war. But no matter how I practiced and improved, she would always worry about me.”

He looked at her and smiled sadly.

“ ‘Tis the burden of a mother: to watch her child grow up to face the dangers of the world.” he said softly.

Emma smiled back, until a sudden idea came to her. She sat up and crawled over to him, dragging her blanket after her and pulling it across her shoulders – the nights were getting colder.

“Hey – Strider, listen. You wouldn’t know of any Ford around here, would you?”

Strider frowned. “Come again?”

Emma briefly recounted what she’d learned at the Prancing Pony and how that helped them on their search for Henry, omitting everything about Greg and Tamara except that they were the ones who’d kidnapped her son.

When she’d finished, Strider gave her the same sort of look Gandalf had when she had first told him their story. Clear, but surprisingly understanding, and which seemed to know what you were keeping from them. Emma internally squirmed, uncomfortable under such scrutiny.

At last, he dropped his gaze to look once more over the calm marshes.

“Ford… a ford…hmm…I wonder…” he murmured, stroking his lip with the stem of his pipe.

Emma glanced up hopefully. “Does that mean anything to you?” she asked.

Strider still appeared to be lost in thought, and didn’t answer right away. He hesitated slightly before he did.

“I may have…one idea of what it could be,” he said quietly, “but there is every chance that I am wrong. I will not say what right now, but I will tell you when the time seems fit.”

Emma swallowed back down a lump of bitter disappointment. For a moment, she’d thought Strider would have the answer, the solution to the torturous riddles that had revolved in her mind since Bree. She was forced, however, to go back to her endless questions and wayless wonderings.

Possibly Strider saw the disappointment on her face, because he chuckled softly.

“Do not be angry, Emma.” he said. “I am merely abstaining from telling you because I do not wish for you to be disappointed lest I be wrong. Do not grieve for what you do not know, else you will soon have the world’s burdens on your mind.”

He smiled again, and turned back to the marshes.

After a few more minutes of silence Emma - suddenly very sleepy - thanked him quietly and returned to her parent’s side, lying down on the hard mud. As soon as she nestled her head in the crook of her arm, she fell in a deep sleep, full of happy dreams of memories with her son.

  
  


0o0o0o0o0o0

 

The next day was just as damp and drab as the previous one, and the company squelched on, no longer complaining, but certainly thinking of and longing for baths and warm beds.

Neither Strider nor Emma made any illusion to their conversation the night before, something which made Emma feel both relieved and disappointed. She was embarrassed to have opened herself so much in front of him, and yet she was constantly on the lookout for some sign that he was going to reveal his hunch on the mysterious Ford.

Emma kept reviewing their conversation in her mind; again and again, wondering why she had even dared to talk to him about what had been bothering her. She knew, both from her companions and her own memories just how shut her mind and life had become since Neal’s betrayal. She had trained herself to stay unconcerned and unfeeling through the years, in order to never feel that pain - such pain… She had sworn never to reveal herself to anyone ever again; and yet Strider, a complete stranger to her, plus a man none of them knew for sure just where his allegiances lay, had – with a few simple, quiet words – made her speak as openly as though her oath had never occurred.

He made no such sign however, and Emma spent the day wearily walking on, vaguely listening to the conversations around her but mostly daydreaming about her son.

That afternoon, they at last reached the borders of the Marshes. The sight of dry, solid land was enough to lift everybody’s spirits, and even though Strider said that they would have to continue walking until sunset - at which point they would hopefully have reached Amon-Súl – nothing lowered their morale.

At last, when the sky was an endless stretch of orange and pink and the company had climbed another steep hill, Strider halted and bade them look to the horizon, where another mound rose against the clear sky. From what the large group could see, this had some sort of building on it - although it was clear that time had weathered it away, leaving grey, tumbling ruins.

“This was once the great Watch-Tower of Amon-Súl. Long has it stood there, a strong landmark for any weary traveller seeking a familiar sight.” said Strider, staring vehemently at the crumbling tower. He turned to the others. “We shall rest here tonight.”

Emma considered the once-great stronghold, and she thought she could see the original shape of the tower, which seemed to be some sort of crown. She wondered why anyone would make a tower crown-shaped. She opened her mouth to ask Strider, but found that everybody had already moved on. She hurried off to join them, scrambling down the slippery, dew-laden grass.

Amon-Súl had looked pretty impressive from their previous point of view, but it was only when the company arrived at its foot that they truly realised the size and height of it. Emma’s heart sank at the thought of more climbing – and this time there were massive boulders to clamber over as well.

At last, when the sky had darkened to ash grey, the company sank on the ground of the ledge of stone they had found to rest on. Strider immediately set to scouting the immediate outskirts of their camp.

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Doesn’t he ever get tired?” he asked the others disbelievingly, though inwardly she could only admire their guide’s stamina.

“Trust me, I’ve been asking myself the same question since we left Bree.” said David, who was leaning against the stone wall with his eyes closed. Mary-Margaret was sitting next to him, wincing as she carefully removed her shoes. It was clear her feet were in dire need of rest: they were swollen and rubbed raw from the endless walking. She let out a sigh of relief and pleasure as she placed her sore feet on the cool stone ground.

An hour later, Strider was back. He was carrying a large parcel in his arms, wrapped in a large cloth. He dropped his load on the ground before them, unwrapping the cover to show them the content. Inside it was a rather large assortment of swords, all with scabbards on. Four were quite small, while the other five were quite as long as Strider’s own.

“These are for you.” Strider said, handing a short sword to each of the hobbits and a long one to David, Mary-Margaret, Emma, Gold and Regina - Hook already had one. “Keep them close.”

“Where did you get these?” Emma asked in wonder, pulling the scabbard off her own weapon and examining the long blade. It was quite roughly made, and although she was no expert she could tell it probably needed sharpening.

“This was a watchtower.” answered Strider. “It had a storeroom for weapons and food alike. The food is gone now, but there were still some weapons left.”

With that, he grabbed his own sword and bow and announced that he was going hunting.

Emma was still examining her new weapon. She hefted it experimentally, finding it quite heavy and cumbersome. Still, it was a sword, and it would undoubtedly come in useful. Emma shuddered as she thought of the Black Riders – the Nazgúl. There was no doubt she would need it if they came across those again.

Emma vaguely heard Mary-Margaret asking Strider to go hunting along with him. Looking up quickly, she saw Strider glance back at her mother, hesitation and surprise on his features.

“You should rest.” he said, eyeing her doubtfully. “You have walked all day, there is no need to come with me. Besides, are you quite sure you would-”

Mary-Margaret cut him off, looking annoyed. “Just because I am a woman doesn’t mean I can’t hunt, nor does it mean I am too tired to do so after a day’s walking.” She snapped. “If I have a bow, I can be quite as deadly as you are with a sword. Now answer me clearly: can I go hunting with you or not?” she finished, with a glare Medusa herself would be proud of.

On either side of her, David and Hook grinned at Strider, who was looking utterly nonplussed.

“There’s no arguing with her when she’s in this mood, mate. Trust me, I know.” David said, grinning. “I’d let her go, if you ask me.”

Strider looked at David, his face still so dumbfounded it was quite comical. At last he chuckled.

“Lady, remind me never to cross you again. To do so would be profoundly unwise, let alone dangerous.” He laughed again and sat down on a boulder, patiently waiting for her to put her boots on again.

They were about to leave when Emma had a sudden idea. She clambered to her feet again - ignoring the dull ache in said dear tootsies – and ran after the pair.

“Hey! Strider! Wait up!”

The two turned to face her; Strider was looking surprised again – not to mention impatient - but Mary-Margaret grinned at her. No doubt she knew that her daughter would follow.

Strider opened his mouth to say something, but Emma beat him to it.

“Listen,” she cut across him. “I’ll go hunting with you; if I kill something you have to tell me what your idea about the Ford was. Deal?”

Strider was looking at both women alternately, disbelief growing on his face. Then he shook his head.

“No.” he said firmly. “You’re staying here; you have no experience hunting, although I gather Mary-Margaret here does. I usually go alone: to bring two other people along would greatly diminish my chances of killing any prey. We need as much food as we can get.”

Emma shrugged, completely unconcerned at his words.

“Oh sure, I don’t know much about hunting.” She said nonchalantly. “But if I go I’ll stay with Mary-Margaret, and I gather she does. So you go hunting alone - like usual - while we girls go by ourselves. That way we don’t disturb you, we each get a fair chance of killing prey, and there’s more chance of us actually getting something if we spread out.”

Strider began to say something, but Emma knew what he was going to say and interrupted him again.

“We won’t get lost; Mary-Margaret had to survive for years in a forest.” She insisted. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Strider passed a hand over his face, trying very hard not to lose his temper at these two infuriating women. He sighed.

“Deal.” He said flatly. “But you’re on your own, and if there is the slightest possible chance that you actually win this bargain – which I doubt – do not blame me if you are disappointed.”

Emma knew what he was talking about and just nodded. Mary-Margaret on the other hand, had no idea what they were on about. She showed so by raising her eyebrows at her daughter, who grinned a little guiltily.

“Let the best team win!” Emma cried, grabbing her friend by the arm and dragging her towards the woods near the crumbling tower. She heard Strider grumbling as he too made his way over to the woods.

Ten minutes later, mother and daughter were walking in the woods. Well - Snow was creeping, Emma was walking (and swearing at the brambles that caught her clothes). Twice, Mary-Margaret shot fat hares, to the delight of Emma.

“Sam’s going to enjoy cooking these.” she said happily, stowing the furry creatures in a leather bag she had brought along.

Mary-Margaret smiled too, but clearly her heart wasn’t in it. She fixed a beady eye on her daughter.

“Emma, what’s going on?” she demanded. “Why this deal? Why your sudden interest in hunting?”

Emma shrugged. “You offered to go, too.” she pointed out.

Mary-Margaret shot her a don’t-give-me-that look. “Because I wanted to, Emma. I wanted to shoot arrows again, there’s nothing strange about that.”

Emma snorted. “Yeah, sure. There’s nothing strange about wanting to shoot animals in the dark. I don’t know which world you’re referring to, but it certainly isn’t ours.”

“And what world are you living in, Emma?” Mary-Margaret retorted, angry now. “Do you think only you can save your son?”

Emma stared at her, completely nonplussed. “What are you talking about?” she asked, bemused.

“I’m talking about you keeping things from us!” her mother snapped. “What is going on? Don’t you think you could tell me what your plan is? That I could be allowed to know about your deal with Strider?”

Emma shrugged, concerned with her friend’s sudden anger, but not feeling in the mood to share what she and Strider had discussed the night before.

Mary-Margaret gaped at her daughter as she hefted the bag containing the hares on her shoulder.

“When are you going to accept that Henry is probably almost impossible to retrieve by now?” she cried. “We have no idea where they are, nor what they’re doing, nor why they’ve got him. Why do you keep pretending that all this is just a small expedition in the wild to get your son back, without ever planning ahead, without listening to others’ opinions? How do you expect us to help and respect you if you don’t confide in us – or even listen to us?”

Tears were gathering in Mary-Margaret’s eyes by now, as she poured out everything that had saddened her about her daughter since their arrival in Middle-Earth.

“Everyone from our land came here to help you get Henry back, Emma. Don’t shut us out.”

“He’s my son.” Emma said flatly. “It’s my duty to find him. I’m the only one who should be.”

Mary-Margaret grabbed her daughter’s arm, turning her around forcefully. She glared at her furiously.

“Don’t you make the mistake of thinking you are the only one here who cares for Henry.” Mary-Margaret whispered. “We all do, and that’s why we came with you.”

“Then act like it!” snapped Emma. “Because until now, all you’ve done is sit around, arguing that we’re far better relaxing in the countryside than setting off looking for Henry.”

“Which any logical person would have done!” Mary-Margaret shouted back. “You charge in here, expecting everyone to be able to help, without even considering that there are perhaps others than you to help Henry here!” her mother exclaimed, the tears now leaking on her cheeks. “Your rashness and despair will be the death of us all! And Henry isn’t worth that, Emma.”

Emma straightened, her eyes boring in those of her mothers.

“You did not just say that.” she whispered disbelievingly. “Tell me you didn’t say that.”

Mary-Margaret just shook her head sadly. “Again, you're letting your anger cloud your judgment. Of course I didn’t mean Henry wasn’t worth saving. But don’t deny it, Emma. You only came on this journey – left the Shire - to find your son.”

“Of course that’s why I came! Why else?” Emma shouted indignantly. “I will stop at nothing until I have my son in my arms again. I though you knew that!”

“But there are others at stake, Emma!” her mother cried back. “Don’t you realise? This journey isn’t just about Henry; it’s about saving Middle-Earth! And Frodo, Gandalf, Pippin, Merry, Bilbo, and all the wonderful people we’ve met so far!"

"But you won’t see it.” she continued quietly. “To you, there is only Henry.”

Emma was getting angry too. Who was Mary-Margaret to tell her what to do?

“You have no right to say that,” she snarled at her mother, “oh, you’re so high and mighty - a princess! And of course, being a princess, you had to think of what was best for your people! You abandoned me, when I was just a baby! How dare you suggest that I do the same for my son?”

Her anger was gushing out as well, now. All the resentment, all the years of having felt unwanted were crashing back on her now.

“I gave up Henry when he was born to give him the best of chances, so that he wouldn’t have to feel what I did all my life! And now that I had finally gotten him back, you’re asking me to give him up again.” She cried, burning tears welling up in her eyes as well. “I will get him back, and I will find Greg and Tamara.”

“So you’ll sacrifice your life to get your revenge?” Mary-Margaret cried. “Don’t you know who you sound like?”

Emma turned away from Mary-Margaret, running into the forest, not knowing nor caring where she was going. She heard Mary-Margaret yelling at her retreating back.

“I’m not asking you to give up your search for your son, Emma! I’m asking to break your walls and see that there are others in this world as well! ”

Emma ran on, sobbing freely as she stumbled in the woods, pushing brambles and branches out of the way. She didn’t know how long she ran, she just knew she had to get away. At last, when every breath was like a knife through her ribs and every step was to much to bear, Emma sank to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

She lay there, without knowledge of time nor space, her whole being concentrated on the immense sadness that stretched on around her. Her son, her darling son… was she ever going to see him again?

Mary-Margaret was right, Henry was almost certainly beyond their reach by now. But Emma couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her little boy again; from the very start she had maintained unwavering hope, telling herself that every step was bringing her closer to him.

But they had been in Middle-Earth for over a month now, and they still hadn’t had any proof that Henry was here.

Now that her mind was overwhelmed with sadness and despair, every thread of hope and ray of light that had kept Emma going so far were shut out. Dark, hopeless thoughts wormed themselves into her mind, no longer fended off by her iron-hard hope. The hobbit at the inn had probably heard his clients wrong… they weren’t the people they were looking for… Gold had been wrong: Greg and Tamara were in Neverland…

Eventually, when Emma had cried all her tears and her exhausted mind could keep her awake no longer, Emma slipped into an uneasy sleep. She was utterly drained both physically and mentally, and her body’s only way to keep her alive was to shut her senses down for a while.

And so Emma fell into soft, dark oblivion. She didn’t feel the sudden cold, nor did she hear her mother’s anguished calls, and didn’t even register the distant yells of her companions.


	6. The Road to Rivendell

Emma's eyes flew open. Something was wrong.

She was still on the ground, her cheek pressed on damp earth, and she could smell dead leaves. She turned her head towards the leaf-covered sky. It was pitch black.

Panicking, she scrambled to her feet, brushing away the trails of salt that her tears had left. She felt close to tears again now; where was she? How was she going to find her way back?

Emma cursed as she remembered how she'd run away from Mary-Margaret. Smart move, Emma. Now you're lost.

Emma paced around the small clearing she had collapsed in earlier, her mind working frantically, trying to find a solution to her predicament.

When she was little, about eight or nine, she had been taken into a family for a few months. Her seventh family. The man, a middle-aged university professor, had been extremely fond of riddles and problems of logic.

Emma recalled his kindly, jolly face, how his eyes had twinkled as he surveyed her over his spectacles, his amused expression as she puzzled out yet another riddle for him.

 

"Emma," he said, "what's the next step? What do you think you're going to do next?"

Nine-year-old Emma Swan pouted, her pink lower lip jutting out sulkily, the lines of the riddle in her little hands still depressingly obscure.

"I don't know." she mumbled. "This one's much harder than usual, Uncle Ted."

Her Uncle laughed.

"Honey, when you're lost, all you have to do is come back to the place you were stranded. You're nearly always bound to come across something familiar."

He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling as he watched her hesitate over the lines of the poem. Slowly, her eyes read the top line, jumped to the third, crossed to the seventh, returned to the fifth, and finally came to a rest on the last line. A grin spread across her small face, illuminating her features.

"Uncle Ted!" she cried. "I found it! I know the answer! It's-"

Uncle Ted quickly placed a hand on her lips, chuckling.

"Stop right there, sweetheart!" he said. “We don't want the rest of the world to know! I want the rest of the family to figure this one out. But I doubt they'll be able to." He smiled at the little girl in front of him. "You have a sharp mind, honey. I think you'll go far. One day, the name Emma Swan will be on the mind of a whole lot of people.  You'll see."

The little girl smiled at him.

 

The adult Emma sighed at the memory of her well-loved Uncle Ted. He had been a kind man, always ready for a brain-challenge. Emma had only stayed with him and his sweet wife for three months. Sadly, she'd gotten the news two years later that he'd died of a heart-attack.

But Emma knew what to do now. Taking a deep breath, she took out a lighter from her pocket (she didn't quite know how it had ended up in her pocket since Storybrooke, but she sure was glad to have it) and clicked it into life. She twiddled the notch so that the small blue-tinged flame grew a little.

Fortunately for her, Emma hadn't left the Enchanted Forest without having picked up a couple of things. Right now, it was the hours of Mulan's patient tutoring that came to her mind. The warrior had shown her how to track animals during their stay in the forest. Emma hadn't been much good at it, but at least she could spot the most obvious of trails and follow them without much difficulty now.

She set about searching for her footprints, feeling slightly better now that she had some sort of idea what to do.

At last, after having found her own trail and followed it for what felt like hours, Emma came across a holly bush that struck her as familiar. She was sure this was where Mary-Margaret had shot the second hare. Emma gulped as she remembered that this was also where they had started their argument.

Emma’s heart clenched as she recalled her shouting match with her mother. Her face flushed with shame as the things that had been said came back to her. Tears started to roll down her cheeks again. Deep down, Emma knew she was in the wrong; she knew just how selfishly and stubbornly she had behaved this past month or so. Her desperate search for her son had blinded her of others' opinions and feelings. She realized with a jolt that this was exactly what had happened when she had felt so incapable of staying in Storybrooke, before the curse broke.

As these painful thoughts and memories rotated in her mind, Emma walked hurriedly in the direction she and Mary-Margaret had come. Suddenly, a horribly familiar shriek resounded in the forest around her, followed by screams she was quite sure belonged to her companions.

Emma felt as though her stomach had suddenly turned to ice. She felt the sharp stabs of fear as she hurried in the direction of the noise. Now this might seem incredibly stupid to most people, but to Emma this was the only way of finding her companions again, so she ran on, knowing the sounds would lead her to the others.

At last, Emma burst out of the woods and ran up the hill, from which screams and sounds of battle could be heard more clearly every second. She scrambled over boulders and rocks, her breath now coming out in sharp gasps. Finally she reached the stone ledge they had used as a resting place and snatched her discarded sword from the ground.

The cold and despair that the Nazgúl emanated was now washing over her as she wrestled the blade out of its sheath - they were threatening to overwhelm her mind. Mentally clinging on to her wits with all her strength, Emma at last pulled the heavy sword free, and she sprinted up the crumbling stairs towards the top of the tower.

What she saw when she stumbled out of the narrow passage made her blood freeze and her knees feel weak.

Her companions, scattered across the rooftop, were all fighting no less than five Nazgúl. In a flash, Emma saw the hobbits huddled in a group - three of them valiantly trying to protect Frodo - her parents fighting back-to-back with a particularly tall Ringwraith, Hook holding his own against another and both Gold and Regina trying in vain to summon their powers to save themselves.

Adrenalin now forcing the fear from her system, Emma ran to her parents. With a yell, she blocked a blow that had been about to decapitate Mary-Margaret. The added force of her speed to her momentum made the block stronger than she would have thought, and the Black Rider actually stumbled back a little.

Emma took advantage of this and held a hand out to her mother, who had fallen to the ground. Mary-Margaret took it, looking at her daughter in wonder while David took Emma's place and fended off their persistent foe.

"Emma." she breathed in relief. "You're back."

Emma managed a weak smile. " 'Course I am. Did you really expect me to miss out on all the fun?"

Her mother let out an exhilarated, disbelieving laugh.

"Precisely which definition of 'fun' did you have in mind?"

Emma grinned, all thoughts of their previous argument gone.

"How about: 'extremely dangerous and frightening situations'?"

Mary-Margaret laughed again and Emma pulled her up. They turned in unison to see another Nazgúl approaching them. They exchanged a resigned look - watch my back, it said.

Emma blocked a massive blow with her sword while Mary-Margaret notched an arrow and let it fly. She felt the force of the blow shake her very bones, and her sword arm would have dropped had it not been for her determination to ward this thing off. Emma stumbled back, shaken. Her parents were now hailing blows - both of sword and arrow - on the beast. Not that they had any effect: the arrows merely shattered on impact, and David couldn't make a single one of his thrusts connect.

Emma looked around, confident that David and Mary-Margaret could hold their own for the moment. She saw Hook block an offensive from his opponent and throw a large rock at it, witnessed Regina kick away an evil-looking dagger kung-fu style and Gold whack a Nazgúl with his cane. They were dealing remarkably well considering they technically hadn't fought for about thirty years. Then Emma spotted the hobbits; Sam and Pippin were stirring on the floor, and Merry was scrambling up again, sword aloft. Emma soon understood why: a Ringwraith - no, three of them - were approaching Frodo, who was cowering on the ground, scrabbling backwards and looking scared out of his mind.

Emma couldn't blame him, to be honest. Those things were pretty damn terrifying as far as she was concerned. But Frodo soon met a stone wall behind him, and found he could go no further. His pale face was frozen in terror, and he seemed to be drowning in fright. Emma wrenched her gaze from him, and saw a Black Rider coming for her. She dodged a heavy blow and attacked her opponent, raining blows on the seemingly-indestructible creature. She thanked whatever deities there could be in this world that adrenalin was on her side right now; the chemical was shielding her from the paralytic fear and cold that had previously rendered her incompetent when faced with these things. It didn’t do anything about the shrieks, though. The bloody creature kept making insanely loud noises – something like a cross between a banshee and a drowning cat. Her head felt like it was being drilled to death.

A moment later, the Black Rider seemed to lose interest in her. It turned its head towards Frodo - around whom its fellows were standing - as though suddenly distracted by a call. Emma glanced at Frodo, and noted with worry that he seemed once more to be in a trance. She saw a glint of gold in his hands and knew that he was fiddling with the Ring. Suddenly, he disappeared.

Emma scowled. She hoped Frodo wouldn’t make a habit out of vanishing like that; it was starting to seriously creep her out. He would soon get into trouble because of it, and they wouldn’t be able to help him simply because they couldn’t see him.

The Nazgúl crowded around the space Frodo had disappeared from, intent on it. Their leader, the tallest one, was stretching out a hand towards the ground, a wicked–looking dagger in the other. It seemed that they could still see him no matter the power of the Ring. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw her companions get to their feet and advance towards the eerie group. Suddenly, a scream resounded around them, and Frodo reappeared, his face contorted in agony and the dagger impaled in his shoulder.

For a split-second, in the dim, flickering torchlight and screaming in anguish, Frodo looked at Emma. At that moment, his pale face – so full of pain and distorted with fright– looked uncannily like Henry’s.

As Frodo and Emma locked eyes, her heart suddenly ripped. She felt something within her surge lightning-fast; in a blur, she saw the Nazgúl once again approach Frodo with the dagger, another throw Sam against a stone pillar, and Strider appear out of nowhere to attack the remaining Ringwraiths.

Emma felt power and magic bubbling away inside her, blinding her senses and yet strengthening her exhausted limbs. She barely felt herself run to Frodo. She didn’t notice that she plunged her sword in the Ringwraith’s back. She didn’t feel the deadly numb spread from her fingers up her arms. All she saw was Henry’s face as she stared at Frodo. The moment his name crossed her mind, the power burst out of her. She saw flames, she saw light, she heard Frodo’s scream... and then darkness took her.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

Emma was cold. So cold...

Was this death? She couldn't feel anything. Wait, she was thinking though, wasn't she? Did dead people conserve their ability to think when they kicked the bucket, then? She hoped so.

All the same, she wasn't sure she was dead. How about asking herself a few simple questions? All right, then:

What's your name? Emma Swan. Goody-good. She still knew who she was, then.

Where are you? Err. Good question. Last time she'd looked, she was on a hill, fighting...things. Big, scary black things. Nazgúl! That's what they were! Phew, she was glad they were gone now. Hold on a sec - were they?

Who were you with? Oh, that's easy: David, Mary-Margaret, Regina, Gold, that infuriating pirate, and the hobbits - Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin. Oh, and that mysterious ranger, Strider.

Where are they? Um... With her. Hopefully.

Where are you going? Some place where the elves live. Rivendell, she thought it was. Strider was being Strider and was being very mysterious about it. Oh, well. Stuff Strider.

Why are you going there? Because Gandalf said we should. And to help Frodo. And to save Henry.

Henry!

At the thought of her son, Emma jerked back to reality. And what a very cold and numb reality it was; not to mention the complete helplessness she felt right now. Emma struggled to move her limbs, but found she couldn't feel them, let alone move them. It was so dark, too... Maybe she would see some light if she opened her eyes.

Emma did so. She saw her lids open, and indeed blinding white light came through. Emma tried to groan, but she couldn't seem to order her mouth to open. She closed her eyes again, wanting to avoid the painful light. Something very strange was going on, but what?

She could hear buzzing now. The noise kept getting louder, droning on and driving into her head. Soon the buzzing turned into voices; they were calling to her, asking her to listen to them. All she wanted to do was wake up and find Henry.  Go away, she thought, go away. Leave me alone.

Slowly, the voices became clearer and more recognisable. She identified Mary-Margaret’s voice, and that of David. She thought she could also hear Strider and the hobbits.

Along with her hearing, Emma found that her touch and sight were returning, too. She could feel dull pain in both her arms, and she could sense a massive headache coming along as well.

Emma tried to open her eyes again. This time, the light wasn’t as bright, and she could make out some vague shapes around her. She blinked, and the shapes became clearer. Mary-Margaret was leaning over her, looking worried out of her mind. Emma could see her mouth open and she heard noises coming out of it, but she couldn’t understand them. She frowned, but her face muscles wouldn’t respond either.

Emma was completely baffled. What the hell was going on?

She could feel numb oblivion claiming her again, and she gladly would have welcomed it. But Emma, being Emma, clung on to her semi-consciousness, forcing herself to wake up. She dragged her mind out of its sanctuary, though it cost her one of the biggest efforts of her life.

At last, she managed to move her head a little; she knew she had managed it because her dormant headache suddenly sprang back to life again, relentlessly pounding the inside of her brain.

Mary-Margaret seemed to have understood what she was trying to do, because she placed a gentle arm behind Emma’s shoulders and lifted her a little. This tiny motion made Emma dizzy, and she flung a hand up to her head to steady herself. Well, she tried to. She still couldn’t move her arms. Emma was starting to feel scared now. What was the was the matter with her arms?

In her panic, Emma’s hazy sight sharpened at last, and so did her hearing. She could suddenly hear others’ voices and see where she was. She didn’t recognise the place: it looked like a small clearing, surrounded with trees. She could also see huge stone...were they statues? The light she had seen earlier came from a torch David was carrying. He looked as scared as Mary-Margaret.

“Is she alright?”

“Is she awake?”

“What happened to her?”

“Emma, honey, can you hear me?”

Emma turned at the sound of her name. She glanced up at her mother, who was still looking scared and worried. She tried to say “Yeah. I’m fine.” but found herself unable to. Instead, she nodded slightly. She immediately regretted it; the pounding in her head increased twofold. She tried to sit up to make her dizziness go away.

“Don’t try to sit up just yet, Emma.” Said David, worry and fear straining his features. “You’re in quite a state.”

Emma ignored him. She sat up anyway as best as she could, clinging to Mary-Margaret for support. She was relieved to find she could at least stir her limbs, now. Strider came into view, a gourd and a few leaves in his hands.

“Try to swallow these.” He said quietly. “They’ll clear your head and reduce the pain.”

Emma looked at him gratefully, and obediently chewed and swallowed the leaves her mother fed her. She gulped down a few sips of water. Immediately, the pounding in her head lessened considerably, and her sight cleared completely. The pain in her arms was still there though. She tried to move them again. With difficulty, she managed to lift and bend them a little. Relieved that at least she wasn’t totally paralysed, Emma sat up properly and turned to her companions, all of whom were goggling at her in various degrees of worry.

“What happened?” she croaked, and was pleasantly surprised she’d found her voice again.

Her companions exchanged glances. It was David who first spoke.

“You... you gave us quite a fright, Emma.” He said, his voice shaking slightly at the memory of it. “We were all fighting the Black Riders, and then they all crowded around Frodo. We all saw him vanish, and then the big Rider stabbed him with that dagger. Then you... you glowed. Some sort of light was coming from inside you, and your eyes turned purple. We were shouting at you, asking you what on earth was going on. But you didn’t seem to hear us. You saw Strider appearing to help us fight, and you just ran straight for the Ringwraith -  the one in front of Frodo - holding your sword up and...and stabbing the thing in the back! The light coming from you then sort of...exploded - It was so bright we couldn’t see for a few moments. When the light was gone, all the Black Riders around Frodo were running off, and Strider was still fighting the last one. You were lying on the ground. We all thought you were... dead.” He finished with a choke.

Emma was staring at him open-mouthed. Regina and Hook were still looking dumbfounded, whilst Gold eyed Emma curiously. He didn’t look worried in the slightest, but could have been chatting with Emma about three-headed purple dragons.

“But... why did I do that? What happened? Why was I knocked out afterwards?” Emma asked in bewilderment.

Mary-Margaret shook her head in helplessness. “We don’t know. Nothing seemed to have particularly triggered it. One moment you were fighting, then you were watching Frodo being stabbed, and the next you were stabbing the Black Rider yourself. ”

Emma looked at Gold and Regina, certain they knew something about this. Uncomfortable under her scrutiny, Regina answered her first.

"It was undoubtedly magic." She said matter-of-factly, ignoring the hobbits' and Strider's looks of bewilderment. "But I have no idea how you worked it. It didn't look like you had any control over what it was doing to you, nor what you were doing yourself."

Emma nodded, her suspicions confirmed. Magic was yet again behind something no-one could explain. Emma remembered the bizarre feeling when she had seen Henry's likeness in Frodo's pain-stricken face. She hoped it wasn't anything ominous, and for that reason she decided to keep quiet about it.

Still not satisfied but knowing that no-one could explain what had happened, Emma turned her attention back to the others. Strider came up to her, looking concerned.

“How do you feel?” he asked her.

Emma shrugged and grimaced. “Lousy. I can barely feel my arms apart from some sort of dull throb. And it feels like my head isn’t connected to my body.”

Strider nodded, looking unsurprised. “Look at your arms.” He said grimly.

Emma did so, and she gasped at the horrible sight of her flesh. Her bare forearms were covered in patches of bruised, almost black shadows. She touched one of them, and she felt the dull pain more sharply, but didn’t actually feel her finger on her skin.

“What’s this?” she cried. “Why are they like that?”

Strider looked grim.

“The Nazgúl are one of the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They are neither dead nor living, but cursed beings. They are trapped in a shadow-land, where no living things exist. When a Nazgúl is harmed – like the one you stabbed – they make sure their attacker is fatally injured as well. It is called the Black Breath; the resultant wound is not physical, but plunges the victim in a deep, cold sleep. Only their will to live can save them. Your arms are covered with the marks of a beast such as they.”

Emma stared at her arms in desperation. They looked dead, all right. “Is there anything we can do to make it go away?”

Strider nodded. “Perhaps. But you need Elvish medicine. This is beyond my power to heal.” He cast Emma an admiring look. “You are already extremely fortunate to have woken up. Normally victims of the Black Breath do not. They die of cold and starvation.”

Emma gulped. “Yeah,” she croaked, “About that. How come I’m awake? According to what you said, I’m supposed to be in some sort of coma.”

Strider shook his head. “That I do not know. Mayhap it is linked to your power – the light you gave out during the incident.” He gazed at her, his expression bemused and curious. Emma couldn't blame him. It probably wasn't every day in Middle-Earth you witnessed magic exploding out of someone.

Emma took a deep breath, and nodded. The sight of her mangled arms had been quite a shock to her. She looked around her. The clearing was small, and they were surrounded by – yes, she’d been right – massive statues. Trolls, by the look of them.

“Where are we?” she asked, more out of curiosity than worry.

It was Sam who answered her. With a smile, he said “This is where Mr Bilbo was caught by the trolls; they kept arguing about how they were going to cook him and his companions. But they were eventually turned to stone when the sun rose. Mr Gandalf had been distracting the trolls to make them forget the time. Haven’t you ever heard Mr Bilbo tell the story? He’s mighty fond of it, 'specially at parties.”

Emma shook her head, smiling faintly.

Suddenly, she noticed that someone was  missing from the crowd around her.

“Frodo - where’s Frodo?” she asked in alarm.

The others looked even more worried at the mention of the hobbit.

Regina answered her. “You...weren’t the only one who was hurt, Miss Swan.” She said, choosing her words carefully. “As you know, he was stabbed in the shoulder. But...it wasn’t any ordinary dagger.” She finished uncomfortably.

Emma felt fear surge within her again. “Why? What happened to him?”

Strider sighed, and gestured to a bundle of cloaks and blankets on the ground a few feet away from her – it had previously been blocked from her sight by Merry and Pippin.

“He was stabbed by a Morgul blade.” The ranger said sadly.

“What does that mean? Will he be all right?" she inquired anxiously.

Strider shook his head and Emma felt like her stomach had turned to ice.

“He is passing into the shadow world. Frodo will soon become a wraith like them.” he murmured.

Emma stared at the little bundle of blankets, which was stirring feebly. Frodo's mop of dark curls was tossing from side to side, and she could hear him whimpering, though whether from pain or fever she couldn't tell.

Emma felt terrible. Not only was the pain in her arms throbbing more than ever, but hot, bubbling guilt was churning in her navel.

"This is all my fault," she choked. "I was fighting that Nazgúl before he went towards Frodo. And now he's going to become one of them! If I'd just beaten him..."

Mary-Margaret grabbed her daughter's shoulders, turning her so that she faced her full-on.

"Emma, listen to me." she ordered, her eyes flashing. "This is not your fault. Frodo is the Ring-Bearer. You heard Strider: those things are drawn to the Ring, and they're practically invincible. There was nothing - nothing - you could do to prevent what happened."

Emma looked down, tears prickling her eyes. What Mary-Margaret was saying was true, and yet Emma still felt the weight of guilt and sadness crushing her.

Snow was still holding her daughter’s shoulders, holding her as firmly as if her very grip would convince Emma of her innocence in the terrible event that had just befallen Frodo.

Emma’s head was bowed, and tears were leaking out of her eyes again. She was still unable to digest the terrible fate that awaited the sweet little hobbit. He had done nothing to deserve it, how was it fair?

In any case, their only hope was to reach Rivendell as soon as possible, before the venom had time to drag Frodo into the shadows forever... A terrible doubt suddenly made itself known to Emma.

“How long has it been since the attack?” She asked at large, dreading the answer.

Her companions all exchanged anxious looks, as though their suspicions were confirmed. At last, Strider answered her, though looking grimmer by the minute.

“Three days,” he said quietly, “the force of the attack on you both was enough to keep you unconscious for the whole time. This is only the second time we’ve stopped to rest since we left Amon-Súl.”

It was certainly true; now that she noticed it, all her companions looked like lukewarm death: the only colours in their pale, waxy faces were the large purple shadows under their eyes, and the whites of their eyes were red with exhaustion. Emma stared at them, dread and horror settling at the very bottom of her stomach.

“But... but Frodo needs help now. How are we going to get to Rivendell in time? We’re six days away from it – we won’t get there in time!”

Strider nodded, reaching down to gather the blankets around her and picking up the little leaves that had so miraculously cured Emma’s headache.

“Which is why we should set off with all haste. You are awake now, but Frodo’s state has worsened: his skin has turned cold and he no longer heeds our voices.”

Emma gulped silently as she digested these news, feeling the necessity to move now more than ever. She gripped Mary-Margaret’s arm and shifted her legs, managing to lift herself off the ground without toppling over. Her legs felt leaden, but she was pleased to see that they did, at least, respond. Mary-Margaret frowned. She obviously disapproved of so rash an action so soon after the exit of a coma, but clearly the urgency of the situation robbed her of any comment.

Emma managed to take a couple of steps, but stumbled on the third. She clung to her  friend for support. Emma felt ashamed; what must everyone think of her? She was the lucky one, she’d survived the Nazgúl’s attack. And yet here she was, leaning on others because she couldn’t even walk three steps!

Mary-Margaret appeared to have read her thoughts.

“You’re not weak.” She said firmly. “You’ve woken up from a coma literally five minutes ago and you’re already walking. Which, if anything, shows you’re much stronger than most.”

Emma tried to smile her thanks, but failed to find the energy. The longer she stayed standing, the more she could feel the little strength she had ebbing from her limbs. She swayed, and this time both David and Mary-Margaret caught her. Her mother looked more worried than ever now, and she turned to Strider.

“She can’t move just yet; to do so now would cause irreparable damage. She needs rest, Strider!” Mary-Margaret cried in anguish.

Emma shook her dizzy head feebly.

“No.” She  mumbled. “Must move - must help... Frodo.” She could hear her voice as though from outside her own head. It sounded so weak, so feeble. So unlike the Emma from the world she knew. Even the Emma in the Enchanted Forest had been stronger than this one!

Emma felt David’s strong arms wrap around her, lift her and place her unresponsive body on Bill the pony’s back. The poor creature already had many packs and blankets lashed onto him, and the little consciousness Emma still had felt sorry for him. She heard Strider’s voice come from her right, and she saw from her now-foggy vision a dark shape that looked like his cloak.

“Bill can carry her for now. I’ll take Frodo from now on. We must move now; they’re close.”

Emma felt the sudden movement of the pony beneath her, and she clung on to the packs with all her might. She could still feel David’s arm around her waist as the company moved forward, but her senses were closing in around her. Soon, darkness took her again, and she knew no more.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

The next few hours felt like an eternity to Emma. She kept floating in and out of consciousness, each time finding herself still on the pony’s back, but pacing along a different path – sometimes woods, others rocky paths, and sometimes wide open, grassy plains under the starry sky. While she tried with all her might to stay awake every time she surfaced, the numb cold and obscurity claimed her mind all over again. She felt dull pain in her arms whenever she awoke, while dark dreams and despairing thoughts filled her mind when she succumbed to shadows time and time again.

The motley group of companions thus walked on for most the night. As they trekked through yet another small forest, they halted again. This was not for rest, but rather because Strider thought he could hear the Ringwraiths ahead of them - something which rather dissuaded the others from moving anywhere forward. And so they stopped once more; David and Hook gently lowering Emma from Bill's back onto the ground, while Strider deposited Frodo next to her. The others were drooping with exhaustion, and only urgency and their acute fear of their pursuers kept them alert.

Strider grabbed a torch from David and scouted around the small clearing they had stopped in. Behind him, Frodo was whimpering and sounded as though he was struggling for breath. Emma was unconscious once more, and now her skin had turned cold as well. As David shifted her into a more comfortable position, her sleeve rucked up a little and he saw that the deathly bruises had spread even more.

"Strider, they're getting worse." David said, not bothering to keep the panic from his voice. "If we don't get help now they won't survive."

Strider nodded curtly, clearly just as concerned. He turned to Sam, who was staring at the two still victims with tears in his eyes.

"Sam," he called to the hobbit, "do you know of the Athelas plant?"

"Athelas?"

"Kingsfoil."

"Kingsfoil, aye; it's a weed." said the confused little hobbit.

"It may help to slow the poison. Hurry, we must find some if they are to live."

Both silhouettes disappeared among the trees around them, one stout and the other lean and tall. Mary-Margaret looked too distressed for words, and even Regina and Gold looked worried over the fate of their companions. Hook was crouched next to Emma's head, and he brushed a lock of hair from her face.

"Come on, lass." He muttered. "Don't give up now, you haven't found your boy, yet. Think of the number of times you'll get to punch me before then, too."

David and Mary-Margaret stared at the pirate in slight disbelief, then exchanged a somewhat confused look. David was about to say something pretty sharp when another shriek they now associated with fear and death resounded around them.

"They're close." David said, grabbing another torch. "I'm going to help the others find this plant. You guys keep watch."

"I'm coming with you, mate." interjected Hook, getting to his feet and drawing out his sword.

David looked like he might object, but thought better of it and nodded curtly. The two men went after Strider and Sam, the flickering light of the torch soon vanishing among the trees.

They soon separated however, once they had found Strider and obtained a description of the plant from him. Hook strode through the undergrowth, scanning the ground for the miracle-plant, its small pointed leaves and tiny white flowers. Thoughts were racing through his mind. He didn't want Emma or Frodo to die; in fact, he rather liked Frodo, he was a good chap - very hospitable and didn't ask too many questions. And as for Emma... Well, he'd be damned if that girl went down without a fight. The thought that Swan could die like this was ludicrous: about as compatible with the mind as a sweet-distributing Crocodile or a fluffy dragon.

At last, Hook thought he saw what could possibly be the much-desired plant. He bent down and plucked at sprig of it, but found he needed his sword to cut it loose. As he did so, he felt a something cold and sharp press against the skin of his throat.

"Now, what -" said a voice, "- do we have here?"

Hook leaped up, pushing aside the blade and brandishing his own. He pointed it at his aggressor. He was mildly impressed. Not many people could sneak up on Captain Hook and go un-noticed.

What he saw, however, robbed him of any straightforward thoughts at all. The...well - being in front of him was the most ethereal, glowing and other-worldly creature he has ever seen.

The creature, (A/N: who for the sake of simplicity and lack of lexical choice will from now on be referred to as a person) had his blade steadily pointed at Hook's face, and appeared to have a good many other knives and such on his person. He was certainly humanoid, had long pale hair, pointed features - including his ears - and piercing eyes. Something told Hook that if he were to attack this person it would be the very last thing he would ever do. For this reason, he lowered his sword completely.

"Hello, mate." he said in an attempt of a casual tone.

The glowing man raised a finely arched eyebrow. Hook felt awkward - how was this going to end? Lots of things he wanted to say were bustling about on the tip of his tongue, and he ended up blurting out possibly the most inadequate one of all.

"What are you?" he asked, putting all manners aside.

"The question is," another voice behind him said, "who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Hook whirled around, brandishing his sword again. Somehow, whoever was behind him knew what he would do, and his blade clashed with another well before it was supposed to. He locked eyes with this second attacker, and this time found himself staring at the face of a woman. A woman of extraordinary beauty of the same sort as her companion's: glowing, strange, and ethereal. Like her friend, she was like a human and yet nothing like a human at all.

Rolling his eyes, Hook lowered his blade again.

"Might I inquire as to the night-time wanderings of two people such as yourselves?" he asked, trying to appear unconcerned, though his mind was racing and his heart beating faster than a rabbit's.

The woman's large blue eyes held his gaze evenly for a few moments before she answered.

"We are looking for friends of ours. They are in need of help and we have come to supply it."

Hook visibly brightened at that. He sheathed his sword and grinned at the two people - who were both completely bemused by now, both by his speech and lack of defense. Normally, Hook would have agreed with them, but right now there were urgent things to attend to.

"Say, these friends of yours, they wouldn't include four hobbits and a ranger called Strider?"

The look on the woman's face confirmed his suspicions.

"You know them?" she asked cautiously, her eyes wide with hope.

Hook grinned. "Know them? I've been travelling with them for two bloody weeks, love. I'd say I know them, all right."

The other glowy fellow frowned and raised his sword slightly in response to Hook's familiar address to his companion. "How do we trust you?" he asked in slightly accented English.

Hook sighed. "No need to get hostile, mate. I'm only trying to make acquaintances. We do in fact need help. Two of our number are injured, and they only have hours - perhaps a day - if they don't get some soon."

The male person opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by somebody crashing through the trees. It was Strider. Glancing at Hook's entourage, he seemed to immediately recognize them. He walked up to the man and clasped his forearm, speaking words in a strange language Hook could make neither head nor tail of. He then turned to the woman, who smiled at him. She spoke to him in the same language, and he replied before turning to Hook again, who gestured helplessly.

"Care to explain, mate?"

Strider chuckled.

"These people will not harm us, Captain. They are friends of mine."

"Fine." Hook muttered. "But what kind of people are they? Glow-in-the-dark practice targets for hunters?"

The male creature looked affronted, but the woman laughed. Strider looked like he was resisting the temptation to roll his eyes.

"They are elves, Captain." he said. "They have come here especially to aid us."

Hook blinked in disbelief.

"Elves. All right, fine. Elves." he said mildly. "Excuse me for a minute, will you?"

With that, he strode off, leaving the three others behind him - two of them considerably confused, and the other trying to hide his amusement. They immediately moved to follow Hook, and they walked thus with a distance of about twenty feet between them.

Hook stumbled through the forest, trying to find his way back to the camp. On the way, he bumped into David, who stared at Hook's tag-alongs in amazement.

"Who... What are they?" he asked in wonder.

"Strider's got elf friends." Hook called back at him over his shoulder as he continued to walk.

"Elves?"

"Elves. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll make my way back to reality."

Hook strode forward, leaving David looking flabbergasted, while Strider and his companions looked rather amused.

At last, the whole party had arrived to the small clearing. Hook was once more kneeling beside Emma, talking to her while she opened her eyes and looked around dazedly. Mary-Margaret smiled at her daughter, and looked up when she heard the last people enter the glade. Her mouth dropped open slightly when she saw the elves, but closed it again quickly and instead went over to her husband, who was still having trouble taking his eyes off the strange beings.

"Emma's awake. " she said, smiling reassuringly at Strider and David. "She says she can hear us and everything, but... Frodo's worse." she finished worriedly. "He's completely beyond consciousness now, and nothing we do seems to attract his attention." She turned to Strider's elven companions.

"I believe we haven't been introduced." she said with all the courtesy of the princess she was. "My name is Mary-Margaret, and this is my husband, David."

The two elves bowed their head, their right forearms over their hearts.

"I am Glorfindel of the House of Elrond." the male elf said in greeting. "And my companion is Arwen, daughter of the Lord Elrond. We heard of your coming and went to find you."

"We have been searching for you for two days." Arwen said. "But we did not realize so many of you would travel together."

Mary-Margaret gave her a small smile. "Ours is a long story. It would take too long to tell it all now, and at the moment we need all the time and help we can get." She gestured towards Emma and Frodo. "Frodo and Emma were both victims of the Nazgúl, and they are in grave danger of a fate worse than death. Will you help us?"

The two nodded, and swiftly made their way to the two still figures. By now Emma had sunk into unconsciousness again, and Frodo's skin had taken on a green tinge.

Arwen knelt down between them, examining first Emma then Frodo.

"They are fading." she said grimly. "Yet there is still time before the poison takes them completely. We may save them if we can get them both to my father in time."

"How long do we have?" asked Mary-Margaret anxiously. The situation was worse than she'd thought.

Arwen shook her head slightly, her brow furrowed. "I cannot say for sure. Frodo will soon become a wraith - perhaps another day and it will be too late. As for Emma...I am afraid I have never seen anyone survive such an attack before. I am unable to estimate how much longer she has left, which is why we need to depart as soon as possible."

"How?" asked David testily. "We've been walking for days. Rivendell is still too far away."

Glorfindel smiled for the first time. "We did not come alone." he said. He put his fingers to his mouth and let out a long, wavering whistle. The others cringed inwardly at the apparent stupidity of this: the noise would attract the wraiths!

What they heard in response however, was not the apprehended shriek of the Black Riders. A long whinny answered Glorfindel's call, and soon the galloping of hooves could be heard.

A few moments later, two horses - one white, one bay - burst into the clearing and trotted over to their masters. The humans and hobbits looked on, stunned. Wide smiles spread across their faces however, when they realized that their companions were about to get all the help they could possibly get.

Arwen grabbed the reins of the white horse.

"I will take Frodo, and my Lord Glorfindel will take Emma." she said, picking the little hobbit up and gently placing him on the saddle. "There are five wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, I do not know. We will ride with all haste to my father."

Just then another insanely shrill shriek resounded across the clearing. Glorfindel and Strider glanced around, alert to the extreme once more.

"Hurry," said Glorfindel, "we must leave at once."

He and David lifted an unconscious but feebly stirring Emma onto the back of the bay horse, and Glorfindel swung up behind her. For some reason, Hook looked slightly annoyed.

Strider was talking to Arwen quietly in the strange language Hook had heard earlier. He seemed to be objecting to her going along with Glorfindel and their two friends. Arwen just smiled and replied reassuringly in the same language.

"I do not fear them." she said in English, looking up at Strider.

The latter smiled a little sadly, squeezed her hand and lifted her up into the saddle.

David and Mary-Margaret glanced at each other, smiling slightly. They knew love when they saw it.

The others, however, did not appear to have noticed anything. Regina was folding the blankets up and strapping them to Bill's back, while Gold lit more torches. Hook was fumbling at his side for his flask of rum, clearly still shaken by this rather other-worldly situation.

All remaining companions who were not leaving with the riders gathered around the horses. Mary-Margaret squeezed her daughter's hand, while David hugged his wife in what little comfort he could offer. Emma seemed to be struggling to become conscious once more, and her eyelids were beginning to flutter. Arwen glanced anxiously at her, and steered her horse in preparation to leave the clearing. She looked down at Strider again, who reached up for her hand.

"Arwen," he murmured, "ride hard. Don't look back."

Arwen nodded, murmured something to her mount and kicked him forward. Her horse sprang to action at once, and departed at a gallop, immediately followed by Glorfindel and Emma on their own horse.

The eight remaining companions stared at their retreating backs until they disappeared from their view. When the shadows of the trees had finally swallowed their silhouettes, Strider turned and began strapping everything that was left on Bill's packs once more.

"Our companions are on their way to safety, but we are still in grave danger. We make for the Ford of  Amen. If we are lucky, we may reach it within two days. Any questions?"

Hook cleared his throat. "Yes, actually. Did you just send them into almost certain death?"

Strider glanced at him darkly. "They are in no more danger than we are. It was also the only way of getting them to safety in time. The wraiths may follow them, but until then we are the bait. There is no telling what they will do next."

"What do you mean?" asked Regina, looking scared at the notion of them being bait.

"All they want is the Ring and the one who bears it." Strider answered grimly, fastening his bow and arrows on his back. "With luck, they will not have noticed that the Ring-Bearer has left our midst. If Frodo and Emma are to survive, we must hope they come after us instead."

The three former villains glanced at each other in horror. They hadn't realized the dual danger of the situation: either the wraiths went after Emma and Frodo - of which there was very little chance they came out alive of; either the wraiths came after them, in which case they would probably die as well. Even David and Mary-Margaret paled. Sacrifice, even for their daughter, hadn't really crossed their minds until then.


	7. Rivendell

She was floating. Floating on a soft, warm cloud, and light was bathing her in all its warm clarity. Or that’s what it felt like to Emma. She could hear voices around her, and other small noises she hadn’t heard for a long time. Birds twittering, water running, even light steps.

She was so warm, so comfortable, and so tired… She didn’t want to move just now. In fact, she rather wanted to lay here forever. The noises were persistent, though. What had been mere murmurs previously were gradually becoming downright sounds, and Emma soon found herself opening her eyes.

She was in a large, airy room, full of light and the sounds of running water and birdsong. She stared at her surroundings, bemused. Where on earth was she and how had she gotten here?

Not that it wasn’t pleasant; she couldn’t remember a more beautiful place to sleep in, and now that she was completely awake she realized that the noises – which had seemed so loud at first - were in fact almost non-existent. From her bed - for she was in a large white bed – she peered out of the large window, from which she could see trees in the late stages of fall. The overall light effect was quite lovely.

“Hel-lo?” Emma called awkwardly. She was pleased to find she could speak with a normal voice again.

“Why, hello to you too, my dear.” Said a familiar voice.

Emma whirled her head around, not believing her ears. And yet there was Gandalf, leaning against a wall in a far corner of the room and smoking a pipe. He was also smiling at her, his piercing blue gaze unusually warm and glad.

“Gandalf?” she blurted. “What – why – how… just what happened?”

Gandalf chuckled. “My dear lady,” he said, “I was about to ask you the same question. How are you feeling?”

Emma considered the question. She felt fine, actually. No headache, no numb cold, no dull pain in her arms– hold on!

“Gandalf! What happened? Where are the others? Are they safe? Where am I? Where’s Frodo?” she cried, the memories of the past few days coming back to her in a rush. In her mind, she replayed the last moments she had been conscious: she had been on a galloping horse, and the black Riders were chasing them. But she had soon fallen unconscious again however, and could not remember anything since. She looked up at Gandalf anxiously.

He smiled again, walked over to her and sat in a large wooden armchair by her bed.

“You are in Rivendell, home of the Lord Elrond and his elven people. Your companions are all quite safe.” He informed her. “They arrived here yesterday, and you have been unconscious for three days.”

“And Frodo? Is he –”

“Yes, yes. Frodo is safe. Lord Elrond managed to save him before the poison took over his body and mind completely.” He told her. “You were both very lucky; a few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid.” He finished with another puff at his pipe, looking glad.

Emma sank back into her pillows, weak with relief. She couldn’t imagine what she would have felt like if Frodo hadn’t survived. And the others were safe, too. That was very good news. But as satisfying and full of relief those pieces of information were, they did not explain everything. She turned her head back to Gandalf.

“Where were you, Gandalf? Why weren’t you at the inn to meet us?”

Gandalf’s twinkling eyes darkened a little, and his face was as grim as the night he had revealed the identity of the Ring to Emma and her companions.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Swan…. I was delayed.” He said after a second’s hesitation. He closed his eyes and passed a hand over his wrinkled forehead.

Emma peered at the wise old man, waiting for an explanation. When it did not come, she prompted him.

“And..?”

The wizard’s eyes shot open again, surprised. He seemed to have momentarily forgotten her presence, so lost was he in his thoughts and memories. He smiled at her apologetically.

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you why. Not just now, at least. You have only just woken up and it is not my place to darken your thoughts already with unfortunate tales.” He said, holding a gentle hand up as she opened her mouth to protest. “No, Miss Swan. It is another story for another time, and this is not it.”

Emma loudly let out a breath through her mouth, sounding like a particularly annoyed mare. Gandalf chuckled.

“No doubt you have had quite the adventure since I left you and your companions. I should be glad to hear it.”

Emma shot him a somewhat surprised look. “Haven’t the others already told you?”

Gandalf smiled again. “Yes, they have.” he replied. “Although I would be most interested in your own version of accounts. Somehow I doubt you sprouted wings and killed the Nazgúl  with a flaming sword, as Master Peregrin Took insists you did.”

Emma laughed. She told Gandalf all she could remember - strange powers and all. She was a little disturbed to revisit those vague memories. Had that really been her?

When she was finished, Gandalf seemed to have zoned out again. Emma had to suppress her annoyance. Did all inhabitants of Middle-Earth have annoying habits? What with Frodo vanishing into thin air every few days, Tom Bombadil babbling nonsense, Pippin smoking a whole bag of leaf daily, and now the wizard leaving for the moon every few minutes, she was quite sure they did.

“Interesting,” he muttered at long last, though he still seemed unaware of her presence. “Quite...interesting. Perhaps...but no, surely not. Not yet...”

Emma raised her eyebrows. Was she about to hear something interesting after all? Her hope didn’t last long, for the wizard sprang back to life again.

“Now,” he said briskly, gathering his robes and getting up. “I expect your companions are impatient to see you looking so well. Perhaps we should let them in? Mr and Mrs Nolan have hardly left your side, and the others have not stopped badgering them for information.” he finished with a wink and a smile.

Eager to see her companions again, Emma gave up trying to extricate information from him. She grinned and nodded, and leaned back against the board, taking in the elegant and tasteful decoration of the room, which she had previously been too preoccupied to notice. Graceful statues and sculptures were artfully displayed around the room, and delicate garlands of ivy were wrapped around the large white pillars. The sound of running water came from a fountain that ran in front of the window on the opposite side of the one she had first spotted. If she hadn’t opened her eyes, she would have thought she was in a clearing of a young forest – full of life and light.

Suddenly, the door burst open and her parents came running in, expressions of wild joy stretched across their faces.

“Emma! You’re awake!”  Mary-Margaret trilled. “How are you? Does it still hurt? How’s your head?” she fired at her daughter, grabbing her and pulling her into a bone-crushing hug.

“Give her space to breathe, Snow.” Said David, grinning at Emma and his wife. “I am so glad to see you like this, Emma. How are you feeling?”

The latter grinned lazily and stretched out her arms over her head.

“Never better.” She sighed happily. “I guess these elves are pretty good at their stuff, huh?”

Mary-Margaret was goggling at Emma’s arms. She gestured towards them, incredulous.

“The marks - they’ve gone!” she exclaimed.

Emma lowered her arms, which were bare to the shoulder now – she appeared to be dressed in a long white nightgown – and gasped. It was true: the deathly, bruise-like patches on her skin had completely disappeared, leaving her skin as flawless as before.

“Wow. Yeah, they really are good at their stuff.” She beamed, flexing her limbs and fingers. She was gladder than she cared to admit that her appearance was quite unchanged.

She spent a happy hour minutes talking to her parents, idly chatting about things which they would have considered quite insignificant six days ago – the weather, the beauty of their surroundings, the hobbits’ worshiping of mushrooms… At last though, Emma fixed them with a beady eye and asked them what exactly what had happened since the Nazgúl attack.

David and Mary-Margaret glanced at each other meaningfully and proceeded to tell her about their three-day journey to Trollshaw, where she had first woken up. It had been a dangerous road, what with the Nazgúl after them and with two of their number unconscious.

“How did you guys manage to make me travel so far if Strider was carrying Frodo and Bill was so loaded?” Emma asked, frowning.

David scowled and was about to answer, but his wife beat him to it.

“Hook carried you.” She answered, her face carefully blank. “He and your father took it in turns, but David's shoulder was hurt during the attack, so Hook took you most of the way.”

“You hurt your shoulder?” repeated Emma, indignant. This was news to her. She also didn’t want to dwell on the ‘Hook’ issue for too long. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

David shrugged. “It’s fine, now. Strider had a look at it the first time we stopped, and the people here fixed it up in no time.” Indeed, Emma could see the edge of a clean white bandage peeking out of David’s collar.

“But what happened afterwards – once we left Trollshaw?”

David recounted their nightly march, their halt, and their encounter with the elves. Emma’s jaw dropped when she heard of the nature of her saviours.

“Elves?” she asked incredulously. “Elves came to collect us?”

Mary-Margaret smiled. “Yeah. You should have seen your father’s face when he met them. It was like he’d been struck on the head from behind with a frying pan!”

Emma snorted. She could imagine.

“Then what?” she pressed on.

Here, her parents hesitated.

“Well,” David answered, “we only heard about this from Glorfindel later, once we’d arrived and you’d been taken care of. It seems the wraiths went after you four after all - we weren’t sure whether they’d continue hunting us, or guess that Frodo had been taken away from our group. As it turned out,” he continued after a glance at Mary-Margaret, “the wraiths chased after you for quite a long time, until Glorfindel and Arwen – they’re the elves who saved you and Frodo, by the way – reached the Ford of Amen and crossed it. The wraiths tried to follow, but Arwen unleashed an enchantment that had been cast on the river by her father and Gandalf. There was something like a tidal wave and the Ringwraiths were washed away down the river. They haven’t been sighted since.”

Emma listened to this extraordinary tale in awe. Rescued by elves? Chased by Black Riders? An enchanted river? She was beginning to understand Hook when he’d said he wanted to go back to reality!

“Well.” She muttered, too shocked for many words. “I guess we’re lucky to have the elves on our side, then.”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0

  
  


That afternoon, Emma was visited by Lord Elrond himself. She was just waking up from a deep slumber, and dusk was starting to settle in. He smiled in greeting, and walked over to her. Well, walked - Emma thought he floated more than he walked. She recalled Sam's excited talk of elves: they were fair, immortal, and the most graceful creatures on earth. The elf coming towards her was certainly all of the above; he had a noble and wise face, dark eyes that betrayed the years he had lived, and moved so gracefully Emma was surprised they weren't both underwater.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Lady Swan." he said in a voice Emma thought should have been in a movie.

"Thank you, er... My Lord." she answered awkwardly, still not used to being addressed as a lady. "I'm actually very glad to be here, too."  Where were Mary-Margaret and her princess education when you needed them?

Lord Elrond raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Really? How so?" he asked.

Emma shrugged, embarrassed. "Well. I suppose I'd be Nazgúl food by now if you hadn't sent out some of your subjects to rescue us."

Lord Elrond chuckled, and sat down in the chair Gandalf had occupied that morning. "My daughter and Lord Glorfindel went to rescue you of their own accord when they heard of your coming; I must confess I had not sent them to do my bidding." he confided in her with another smile. "Although I must say I am glad they did. It seems you and your companions are more important that it would appear at first." he added rather mysteriously.

Emma wondered if she was in a position to question him. Upon seeing his thoughtful look and preoccupied expression however, she decided against it.

Lord Elrond spoke again.

"I am glad to see you looking so well - and so soon. You and your companion were very gravely injured, although your own wounds were unlike any I have seen before; how did you come by them?"

Grateful for a subject she could talk about without making a fool of herself, Emma launched into the tale of her battle with the Ringwraith. Lord Elrond watched her attentively while she talked, his hands in a prayer-like position under his chin. His ageless face revealed his incredulity and awe as she described the power that had burst out of her. He didn't press her for details, which Emma was glad of. She didn't know many of them, having heard that bit from her companions only.

When she had finished, Lord Elrond remained lost in thought, staring out of the window for a whole minute before Emma dared to speak again.

"My Lord...?" she asked tentatively.

The wise elf looked at her again, surprised.

"My apologies, milady Swan." he replied. "I am afraid I was somewhere else entirely."

"Do you know what happened? Why that light came out of me? Or even why I'm still alive?" Emma questioned, desperate for answers.

Lord Elrond smiled.

"Alas," he told her, widening his arms slightly, "I have my theories, as I dare say you have, and your companions as well." (Emma wondered if he knew more about her and her companions that he let on) "But nothing we can be absolutely certain of. In any case, you need to concentrate on recovering quickly, as I dare say you must be impatient to get up again."

"But... My Lord - please, tell me. What happened?" she pressed him.

Her host smiled regretfully. "Please, do not let me burden you with worries and questions, My Lady. We will talk of all this another time. For now, rest."

With that, he bowed and left the room.

Emma let herself fall backwards on her pillows, feeling frustrated and angry. Why was everyone refusing to tell her what had happened? First Gandalf, then Lord Whatsit. Didn't they realize that every moment they tarried was another moment Henry was alone with Greg and Tamara?

As the day stretched on, Emma's frustration increased to the point where she could no longer stay in bed. She tried getting up, but unfortunately a passing elf - one who had apparently helped to heal her - insisted she went back. Her impatience had taken its toll on her still-recovering body however, and Emma soon fell into a deep sleep.

As sunset came and went though, Emma's frustrated mind - handicapped by a reluctant body and over-protective nurses - found itself unable to shut down in order for her to sleep again. Emma wished some of her companions would visit her - she'd have loved a carefree conversation with the hobbits - but the elf maiden who had come to check on her said it was best for her to rest with no disturbances.

Pissed off, but not altogether surprised, Emma had flopped back down on her bed and in vain tried to think of something else than the excruciatingly slow passing of time and her son's predicament. But thoughts of Henry clouded her mind every second of every minute, and she found no rest in the peaceful darkness that night had brought. Were was he? How was he faring? Was he still with Greg and Tamara? Was he safe?

Although Greg and Tamara were no pleasant company, Emma hoped that they would protect him if anything else tried to harm him. She didn't know why she was so sure that they didn't want to harm him, but she just knew. Or perhaps she hoped. As it would probably turn out, they'd want to give him over to some other evil maniac with issues about magic. In which case laying on a bed for days on end seemed painfully pointless and entirely unnecessary to her at the moment.

Tossing over in her tangled bedsheets for the hundredth time, Emma puffed loudly. How long was this night going to last? Her nurses had told her to rest, but whatever she was getting right now certainly wasn't that - maybe another headache or just more worries about her son, which she sure as hell could do without for the moment.

Emma listened to the sounds of running water and the warm breeze rustling the leaves of the trees outside, wishing she could at least get out for some fresh air. The stream was still gurgling happily, and she could hear the splashing of fish jumping out of it every minute or so. Strange, she hadn't noticed them before - she'd most likely been entertaining thoughts that were too loud to hear other disturbances.

Those splashing sounds were insistent, though. In fact, they didn't sound much like splashing at all, but rather...

Not believing what she was hearing, Emma crept out of bed and approached the window, from where the strange repetitive noises were coming from. Her suspicions were confirmed as she saw what she expected to see: someone standing beneath her window. They had obviously been lobbing pieces of gravel at the pillars to attract her attention. The person she saw, however, was the last person she expected to.

"Hook?" she called disbelievingly. "Is that you?"

"About time you noticed, love." Came the exasperated reply, though Emma could hear the smile in his voice. "Do you know how long I've been standing here?"

Emma grinned. "I don't know, though something tells me quite a long time."

She heard his chuckle.

"The things I do for my art! Are you going to let me up?"

Alarm bells rang off in Emma's head. Would that be wise? She was tempted, because she hadn't seen any of her companions other than her parents yet, but then again she'd not heard of so much as deduced his reputation as something of a womanizer... An image of Neal swam into the foreground of her mind, along with all the pain his death had brought her. She pushed it away. Neal was dead, and he wasn't coming back.

Hook sensed her hesitation.

"Come on, lass. You won't make me believe you're not bored up there!" he called up at her.

Silence answered him. He sighed audibly.

"Lass, I promise I won't do anything to compromise your reputation. I told you, I'm always a gentleman."

Emma snorted quietly. "Want me to cite a few examples to contradict you there, Hook?"

"Not particularly, no."

"That's what I thought. Anyway, isn't you just trying to climb up here already enough to, as you say, 'compromise my reputation' ?"

He laughed.

"Love, I can assure you, compared to what could happen, my climbing up this wall would withstand puritanical judgment."

Emma rolled her eyes. Pirates weren't persistent, were they?

"Do you ever stop?" she asked mildly.

"Stop what, love?" he replied, all innocent.

"Oh, you know." she said in an exaggeratedly casual tone. "Flirt? Infuriate women in general? Suggest stuff which shouldn't be suggested?"

"My dear Emma, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Care to elaborate?"

"Not particularly, no."

"That's what I thought. Now, enough of this rather pointless bantering and answer me; Can I go up?"

Emma sighed, though she'd mostly made her mind up already.

"I suppose you asking is just you being a gentleman, right?"

"You're about to find out, lass." he replied, and Emma could imagine the smirk and wink that went with it.

Emma swore under her breath.

"Fine." she muttered. "But try anything and I'll push you off this balcony."

"Love, you're welcome to push me around anytime you like. Especially if it's up against a wall." he answered more than suggestively.

Emma face-palmed exasperatedly. Nope, apparently he didn't stop. But then she'd known that.

Hook grabbed hold of the ivy that grew along the wall which lead to her balcony. He started to climb up, steadily approaching the ledge of her window. Emma couldn't help but be impressed; it would be hard enough to climb that vine with two hands, let alone one hand and a hook. Finally, he latched his one hand onto the ledge, pulled himself up, and dropped to the ground next to her.

He straightened up and grinned at her.

"You better keep this to yourself lass, or your father will kill me."

Emma smirked.

"I'll know just what to do when you annoy me, then."

She leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. She actually smiled at him, so pleased was she at seeing someone she knew.

"What gave you the idea of coming up here, then?" she asked curiously.

Hook shrugged, sitting on the edge of the balcony.

"That's what heroes do when a fair lady is held somewhere high up against her wishes, isn't it?"

Emma raised an eyebrow, amused. "Somehow, you don't strike me as one who would act like the usual hero." she said.

Hook smirked. "What do I strike you as then, Emma?"

Emma rolled her eyes.

"Oh, what, are we going to exchange friendship bracelets now? Tell ghost stories? Share secrets?" she asked sarcastically.

Hook winked. "No, although I wouldn't mind the last one." he remarked. "Tell you what we could do, though." he added, rummaging at his side.

Emma braced herself for another range of innuendos, but was surprised - and not altogether displeased - when he produced a bottle filled with what she recognised as rum.

"Care for a drink, lass?" he offered, waving the bottle at her. "You sound like you need one."

Emma cocked her head on the side, considering it. To be honest, the frustration and anger she'd felt all day had left her rather in need of a drink - one somewhat stronger than the spring water the elves had poured her earlier.

She took the bottle from him and took a swig from it. The fiery liquid burned down her throat, warming her insides and loosening her stomach, which had steadily knotted itself throughout the day with worry and discontentment.

She wiped the top and handed it back to Hook, who took a sip too.

"Thanks. I needed that." she admitted.

"My pleasure, Swan." he answered, handing the bottle back to her. She looked at him doubtfully, her suspicions clear.

Hook rolled his eyes.

"Just another swig, lass. It won't kill you or make you drunk, I can assure you."

Emma smiled slightly and accepted the bottle.

They stayed in companionable silence for a while, occasionally taking a swig out of the bottle of rum and listening to the sounds of the night around them.

"How did you meet Baelfire?" Hook asked her suddenly.

Emma choked on her gulp of rum, surprised at the unexpected question. She coughed rather longer than was necessary, using the time to decide what to answer. Should she tell the truth? Well, perhaps part of it.

"During work." she said, deliberately leaving out the details. "I'd just completed a mission of mine, and he'd had a similar one. We soon found we got along."

Hook nodded, accepting her simple-to-the-limit answer.

"And what happened afterwards?" he asked.

"After what?" Emma replied nonchalantly.

Hook threw her a look. 'Oh, please', it said. 'Spare me'.

Emma sighed and set the bottle down on the edge of the balcony. She was fighting an inner battle, debating whether to talk about it or not. Deliberately avoiding it was rather unfair on Hook, who'd been (almost) nothing other than kind and thoughtful so far. On the other hand, the subject of Neal was sure to bring up all the pain and memories she'd labouriously buried for all those years. Finally, her compassionate side won.

"Pinocchio found him." she eventually muttered, determinedly keeping her eyes on the tree before her. "We'd just finished a job, and I was waiting for Neal somewhere. Pinocchio - he's also known as August in Storybrooke - found him and told him about all of it: the curse, Regina, my parents being who they are, my destiny for being the 'Saviour'... He also said that Neal had to... to let me go," Emma continued, her voice cracking slightly with the memories that her story brought back, "so that I could fulfill my destiny and break the curse. He said that the only way he could successfully do that was to break my heart - that way I wouldn't try to go after him. Neal didn't believe him at first - he thought he was just a random jerk who was trying to scare him. But August showed him something: his name - Baelfire - written on paper. Nobody knew who Neal was - Rumplestilskin's son - not even me, for obvious reasons. That convinced Neal, all right. He called the cops and told them where he was supposed to meet me. They followed his advice, and I was sent to jail in his place."

Hook listened to her tale silently, a sympathetic look on his face.

"So... This 'job' that you mentioned earlier then." he ventured after a moment. "It wasn't any ordinary one, I take it? It must've been pretty special if you got sent to jail for it."

Emma nodded reminiscently, her throat tight.

"He'd stolen some watches." she whispered. "I offered to collect them instead of him so that he wouldn't get caught. We'd planned to escape to Canada together with the money from selling them afterwards."

Hook nodded understandingly. He seemed at a loss for words.

Tears were silently pouring down Emma's cheeks by now, for she could no longer hold them in. It was as she'd suspected: bringing the subject of Neal up only brought pain and sadness. She stayed as she was, turned from Hook so that he wouldn't see her cry.

Emma touched the wetness on her face, sad and confused. She never cried, why did she have to start now of all times? She gulped at the fresh night air, gripping the balcony wall until her knuckles turned white. Gradually, she calmed down, and the tears stopped their melancholic flow. Suddenly, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

Hook gently steered her around to face him. He wiped the salty traces off her face.

"There's no need to hide your tears from me, Emma." he said quietly. "I know what a broken heart feels like."

Emma nodded and took a deep breath. She managed a small, watery smile.

"Look who's getting all sentimental." she teased faintly. "Unyielding Emma Swan and the infamous Captain Hook. Who'd have thought it?"

Hook smiled, looking glad she was starting to gain control again.

"Oh, I'm not sentimental, love." he said. "I'm just trying to cheer up a lovely lass when she's crying. Nothing to do with fairy tales. Oh, and that reminds me." he continued, ignoring her 'look'. "Tell me something, Swan. All those people - " he waved his hand around in the air "- in Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest, Wonderland, Neverland etc, are all from stories, legends, fairy tales, books, myths and various other tales?"

Emma nodded slowly, suspecting she knew what would come next.

"Well," he continued slowly, interest agleam in his eyes and trademark smirk fixed anew, "what am I like in them, then? I mean I know the obvious traits: handsome, brave, charming -" Emma rolled her eyes "- brave and fearless. But what about the details?"

Emma didn't try to suppress her smirk. She remembered having read the story of Peter Pan a long time ago, in secondary school. She'd liked it, but had been surprised at the fact it was accepted as a children's book; it had murder, pillage, slavery and violence in it for God's sake! She couldn't remember the details of Hook's description in the book, but she certainly could remember the Disney character.

She sniggered to herself. Hook frowned. Clearly, his image wasn't going to be the glamorous one he'd been expecting.

"Well," she replied in a slightly choked voice, feeling laughter build up inside her. "if you like cigars, ringlets and waxed facial hair, then I guess the world-widely known image of you is accurate."

She grinned at his outraged expression.

"And," she continued, trying to keep an even tone despite the laughter threatening to burst out of her, "I imagine you must also spend your time running away from hungry crocodiles, kidnap Indian princesses, chase fairies and swear that you'd 'get hold of Peter Pan if it's the last thing you do', too."

She allowed herself to laugh as his face reflected all the horror of those revelations.

"Swan," he said desperately over her incontrollable giggles, "tell me you're making this up!"

Emma was clutching her stomach by now and holding onto the wall for support. She shook her head, trying to control the spasms of laughter bubbling up inside her. There were tears in her eyes again, but this time they were both of mirth and pain at her aching ribs.

She shook her head. "I guess the only accurate part of all of it is that you're a pirate." she remarked.

Hook hardly looked reassured at that. He frowned slightly. "What was that you mentioned about the Crocodile?"

Emma explained the story of Peter Pan and Captain Hook's mutual enmity: how Peter had cut off Hook's hand and fed it to the crocodile, and how Hook heard its presence every time because of the alarm clock it had swallowed as well. The real Hook's flabbergasted expression was worth the tale as she finished it, falling about laughing.

"So I don't get to be a handsome rogue, then?" he concluded grumpily.

Emma hiccuped a confirmation.

"Sounds like you'll never get to be something other than a villain." she said casually.

Hook's gaze darkened. He grabbed her arm.

"Emma, I can assure you that in this story I am not the bad guy. Quite the opposite, in fact." he said vehemently.

Emma looked up at him, surprised at his sudden intensity.

"I know." she said, taken aback. "You came to help us find Henry."

Hook looked like he was about to say something else, but thought better of it and released her shoulder. Emma didn't notice anything though, for she had turned impatiently and strode back into her room, frustration having returned.

"Not that we're actually doing anything to rescue him though." she muttered angrily. "The more we stay put, the farther away from us he could be. How long is this going to take?"

Hook walked in after her. "Don't worry, love." he said easily. "We'll find him soon. That boy's sharp, from what I've heard. He'll be all right."

Emma's shoulders sagged, despair and helplessness settling in again.

"But how are we going to find him?" she asked him desperately. She started pacing across her room, wringing her hands, voicing all her thoughts out loud and working herself up in a state of helpless frustration while Hook watched her, fiddling with his hook.

At last, when all the fire of her wound-up discontent had burned out, she sank down on her bed again. She suddenly felt exhausted, and no wonder: In an hour, she'd gone from frustrated, to surprised, annoyed, pleased, immeasurably sad, helpless with laughter, frustrated again, angry and finally to exhaustion.

"You need some sleep, love." Hook observed. "I'll let myself out the same way I came in, and you go to bed. Else those bloody elves will wonder why you're not fully rested yet."

Emma smiled at him sleepily.

"Thank you, Hook." she murmured, her eyelids already drooping. "I... thanks."

Hook gave her a genuine smile and bowed himself out of the room.

Emma crawled to her pillows and pulled the blankets over her, feeling sleep envelop her very being. The last image she saw in her mind before she sank into oblivion was Henry's grinning face, like she knew he would if he knew she'd spent the evening with a pirate, drinking rum and telling stories.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

The next day, Emma was delighted to find out that her elven nurses thought her fit to leave her bed. She literally bounded off her mattress, while the elven maidens around her watched in amusement.

Although Emma wasn't about to forget the night before's experience of frustration and anger, she had to admit that these elves were very hospitable people. So far, her every need had been anticipated and fulfilled - from slippers to cool water in a basin near her bed.

She even found a dress that had been laid out for her on a chair. It was elven-style, and considerably easier to pull on than those frightful dresses the hobbits had made for them. Or maybe Emma was just getting better at dressing in medieval clothing - she'd had enough practice at corsets and bodices by now. Thankfully though, elven clothes were wonderfully bereft of the uncomfortable bloody things. Emma found she was as much at ease in her new gown than in her old t-shirts and jeans.

Emma left her room and wandered around the building. Considering she'd been unconscious when she'd been brought in, this was the first time she saw the place. Like her own room, the whole house was large, airy and and full of light. She soon found herself in a large hall, where she saw the rest of her companions sitting at a table, enjoying their breakfast.

"Emma!" cried the hobbits, lifting their mugs in greeting. Pippin even scrambled up and ran over to her. Emma smiled as he dramatically took her hand and kissed it. The little hobbit's eyes were alight with joy and excitement as he expressed his happiness at seeing her well again.

After a full minute of said speech however, Emma was finding it difficult not to laugh. But thankfully Merry came to her rescue.

"Leave her space to breathe, Pip." he chided his cousin, though he was grinning all over as well. "Good to see you looking so healthy again, Miss Emma. Come and have some breakfast!"

Right on cue, Emma's stomach rumbled, and she realized she was starving. After affectionate greetings from her parents, a cordial welcome from Regina and Gold, a shy smile from Sam and a cheery wink from Hook, Emma took her place at the table, where she helped herself to food.

She noted the absence of the mop of dark curls from her entourage.

"Is Frodo still not awake, then?" she observed.

The hobbits shook their heads.

"No." confirmed Merry. "Although Mr Elrond says he'll be waking up in a few hours. He says his shoulder was hurt quite deep, and that he needed to rest."

Emma nodded. She thanked whoever was up there that she hadn't been hurt as badly as Frodo.

The company ate together in good spirits, happy as they were to see Emma well again and confident that Frodo was safe now, too. Gold questioned Emma on her wounds, apparently very interested in her speedy recovery. She showed him her forearms, which were white and whole again.

He peered at them interestedly, his cold and murky eyes scanning her skin as though looking for a remnant bruise-like mark.

"Interesting," he remarked. "Our friend Strider seems to have been right on all accounts. The elves truly are powerful people."

Emma eyed him suspiciously. She, like all her companions from Storybrooke, knew of his obsession with power. He seemed to guess her thoughts though, and smiled sardonically.

"Ah, now. Don't worry Miss Swan. Believe it or not I intend to be perfectly civil to everyone here."

Hook snorted, not making any effort to hide his contempt. Gold ignored him. Regina just raised her eyebrows slightly and returned to the apple she was peeling. She looked up and down the table, where Emma's parents were chatting with the hobbits, and leaned over towards Emma.

"Do you know anything else about the magic that burst out of you?" she asked in a low voice.

Emma glanced coolly at her. "If I did I'm not sure if I'd tell you, to be honest, Regina." she replied evenly at the same volume. "You and Gold are far too accustomed to magic and to having your own way. I'm glad we're on the same level, for once."

Regina gave her a fake smile. "But that's just it, Miss Swan." she whispered. "We're not. You were the one with the magic that night on the tower, not us."

Emma shrugged and swallowed another mouthful of bread. She didn't care: she couldn't control it, and therefore couldn't see how she could use it. But if she said nothing perhaps the queen would think otherwise. And although she wouldn't quite admit it, Emma was pleased at this new, small sense of power she had over the former queen.

Gold had witnessed their conversation and was still looking curiously at Emma. Used to his normally patronizing and superior demeanor, Emma felt uncomfortable under this new scrutiny.

"What?" she mouthed at him, reaching for a jug of milk.

He looked amused. "Nothing much just yet, Miss Swan. I will however make it my priority to tell you when I know more. For now though, my advice would be to keep what happened to you - namely, the manifestation of magic - to yourself as much as possible."

With that, he got up and excused himself from the table. Emma's confused mind was racing; what had that meant? Was he planning something again? Did he know something they didn't? And why keep her magic secret? Well, if she was honest with herself she didn’t want to spread the story too much anyway. She also knew that Gold was almost certainly planning something for sure, but the trick was to find out if that concerned the rest of them as well. Emma sincerely hoped that Gold wouldn't get up to his old schemes again, as she still had vivid memories of his previous various magical interventions - and none of which she would forgive or forget in a hurry.

Confused and with yet another problem to add to her worries, Emma returned to her breakfast, still puzzling out what Gold could have meant. She was soon distracted, however, as she listened to the hobbits’ version of the recent events - which included much more fighting and heroic actions than she remembered.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

That afternoon, Emma and the hobbits explored the Last Homely House of Rivendell, Emma having received the reluctant permission of her nurses to leave her room and get some fresh air. She simply couldn’t get past the sheer beauty of the place: everywhere she looked there was ivy twining around pillars of clear stone, graceful statues of elven maidens, airy rooms and light curtains. In the gardens bloomed flowers of every kind (she found that strange, seeing as they were in the middle of autumn), and fresh fountains sprinkled water in beautifully sculpted basins. She wandered around the area in the light dress the elves had given her, finding that the temperature quite allowed it. that was another strange thing: it was mid-November, and yet it was as pleasant as the end of a summer’s day. Not hot, but warm enough to walk around with jeans and a T-shirt - or in her case, a dress.

Emma and the hobbits explored the fascinating mansion, meeting a few elves on the way - a rather uncomfortable experience: Sam blushed scarlet and looked down at his feet, Merry and Pippin goggled at fair maidens, and Emma found herself wondering if elves married humans. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she berated herself, although also had to fight giggles. What was she thinking of? This wasn’t the time to look at handsome men!

That proved to be almost impossible, though. Sam had been right: elves truly were the fairest creatures of all.

Sam left them a little while after, anxious to be back at his master’s side once more. Emma shook her head at the little hobbit’s retreating back. Loyalty like that was rare; she’d be damned if she’d seen anything like it before.

Soon, they found David and Mary-Margaret cuddling on a bench in the western garden. They weren’t talking, and seemed just content to be together. Emma started to go back, dragging the hobbits with her, not wanting to intrude on such a private moment. Her mother spotted them though, and waved them over with  smile.

Smiling back, Emma made her way up to them. She flopped down on the bench next to David.

“Some place, this house, isn’t it?” she sighed happily. “I swear I’ve gotten loads better already just by walking around it. I wish I’d figured that out sooner, then I might not have spent the longest night of my life in that ghastly room.” she grumbled.

Mary-Margaret grinned at her.

“Trust me, you’re the lucky one. We had to listen to the hobbits bickering all this time, provide plausible explanations for our appearances to Elrond, and worry about you for three days. Not to mention try to make Sam leave Frodo once a day!”

Emma smiled lazily.

“True.” she conceded. “Although personally I’d have done the last one aided by a large frying pan.”

Her parents laughed. Merry and Pippin, who didn’t know Emma as well, looked slightly alarmed.

Emma shifted to a more comfortable position on the bench and dipped her head back, letting the warm sunlight caress her features. She felt at peace for once; no Nazgúl chasing after them, no magic exploding out of her, Frodo was going to be all right, and Henry... Well, Henry was going to be fine. Just fine.

Emma repeated the words to herself over and over, imagining a string of them twining around her mind and heart, protecting them from worry and fear. Her boy would be all right... he wasn’t going to get hurt... they would see him soon....

But like every time these thoughts entered her head, so did dread. She knew these reassurances were just her mind struggling to keep her from panicking all the time. Hell, she felt wretched for not worrying about Henry more, for not searching for him every minute of every day. Even when she slept during nights her mind was clouded with recurring dreams of son. Henry would appear in her dream, never speaking, but just looking at her - looking at her as though he knew she wasn’t looking for him. Every night, Emma would wake up with a start, calling out Henry’s name, only to remember that he was gone. Gone, and they weren’t any nearer to finding him.

Even in the pleasant warmth of the afternoon sun, Emma felt the cold, dark weight of guilt descend on her heart. What kind of mother was she if she couldn’t even protect her child? She didn’t even know what to do next, Emma realized wretchedly. Maybe Regina and Mary-Margaret had been right. Maybe this wasn’t such a hit-and-run rescue mission, but one that needed careful planning and preparation. Trouble was, though, what?

Emma’s dark ruminations were interrupted in the form of a very excited and very happy-looking Samwise Gamgee, who was running towards them, a look of wild joy on his honest features.

“Frodo!” he shouted at them, tripping over his large hobbit-feet as he sprinted towards them.

Emma exchanged a confused look with her parents. What was happening?

“Sam, are you all right?” Emma called, frowning in concern.

The little hobbit stopped in front of her, hand on knees and puffing with exertion.

“Frodo!” he gasped at her.

Emma was growing more concerned by the second.

“Um... no.” She said slowly. “I’m Emma, Sam, remember?  Emma Swan?”

Sam shook his head impatiently.

“No! Frodo! It’s Mr Frodo, he’s awake!” he exclaimed, grinning.

Emma and her companions gasped and she leaped to her feet, cursing herself for not having understood sooner. She grabbed Sam’s shoulders.

“He’s awake?” she cried “Are you sure? How is he? Is he still hurt?”

Snow put a hand on her shoulder, laughing in delight. “Let him go, Emma. Give him space to breathe!”

David chuckled. “And I’m sure we can go and ask him all those questions ourselves. Poor Sam here looks too out-of-breath to speak.”

He slapped the hobbit on the shoulder in thanks and started jogging after Merry and Pippin, who were already sprinting towards their cousin’s room, easily overtaking them.

Emma started running to Frodo’s chambers as well, Snow and Sam behind her - though Sam seemed to be panting more than breathing. Her mind was racing on adrenalin fueled by her joy, the dark thoughts of before completely extinguished by this new beacon of light. Frodo was awake! That meant life, that meant hope!

At last, Emma and her companions skidded to a halt in front of Frodo’s door. They rushed in to find him laughing with his cousins. He looked pale and still ill, but the smile on his face said that he was very much on his way to recovery.

Frodo glanced over Merry’s shoulder and spotted the others. He and Emma shared a long look. Glad you made it through, too, it said. There were a lot of other things in that look, most of which Emma was pretty certain there were no names for.

Snow grinned and ran to the bed, hugging Frodo tightly. The latter looked surprised, and threw an awkward and slightly guilty look at David, who just laughed and clapped the little hobbit on the shoulder (the uninjured one).

“Good to see you looking so well, Mr Baggins.” came Gold’s voice, as he limped into the room, followed by Regina and a nonchalant Hook.

“And you, Mr Gold.” the hobbit responded politely, having managed to disentangle himself from Mary-Margaret’s embrace. He smiled at all his companions. “It’s good to see all of you.” he beamed. “For a while I thought I never would, you know.”

“You remember what happened, then?” inquired Emma, taking a seat next to her mother.

Frodo sank back into his pillows, wincing a bit as his shoulder protested.

“Bits of it.” he replied, sighing. “I remember the Nazgúl stabbing my shoulder, and then you attacking it, Emma - but then it’s all jumbled up and I can’t tell what was a dream and what was real. I even thought the elves were just part of my imagination, before Gandalf told me it was the Lady Arwen and the Lord Glorfindel who came to rescue us.”

Emma glanced at Hook, smiling slightly. “Yeah, I think some of us are having trouble getting used to the idea of elves as well.” she agreed.

Frodo propped himself back on his elbows again. “Talking about unbelievable things,” he said, fixing her with a stern glare. “What were you thinking when you jumped on that Ringwraith? You could have gotten yourself killed! And what was that purple light coming out of you?”

“Ah. That - er... That was - um...” Emma mumbled. She glanced at Gold, unsure of what to say.

“That’s what saved her, and the rest of us.” completed David firmly. Gold and Regina raised their eyebrows at him, but let it pass. Emma felt awkward too; she didn’t like to lie to the hobbits, but maybe it was for the best. And it’s not exactly lying, came a little voice in her head, it’s just...leaving something out.

Frodo clearly wasn’t convinced, but the out-landers were saved from awkward questions by the arrival of Gandalf. The wizard smiled as he saw the entire company gathered around Frodo’s bed. His eyes twinkled.

“I see I have missed out on joyful reunions,” he commented. “No matter. I am sure you have had a lot to say to each other. Alas,” he said, holding up an apologetic hand as they nodded eagerly and started to talk, “please forgive me for rushing this moment, for I fear there are grave matters which need to be discussed.”

The wizard sat down beside Frodo and took out his pipe. His eyes were serious again, and the slightly haunted look Emma had seen in them when she had first awoken had returned.

“My friends,” started Gandalf, “you have all asked me why I was there to meet you at the inn in Bree - and I replied that my tale could wait, for the safety of our companions was at stake. But now, I think, the time has come to tell you all of my travels since I left you that morning in the Shire.” He paused. “Valar,” he mumbled, “was it really only two weeks ago? Surely it must have been years...”

And so Gandalf proceeded to tell them of his ‘old friend’ Saruman the White -  Saruman the Wise, the Head of his Council. He told them of Saruman’s lack of reaction at the finding of the Ring, he told them of the palántir and the knowledge Saruman was drawing from it. He told them also of the other wizard’s proposal of joining Sauron in his quest for Middle-Earth (“Fat chance.” muttered Emma.) and of the ferocious duel with his former friend. The companions shuddered at the thought of the terrible things that had happened to their friend - what friendship could be cast aside so easily? Well, one with Saruman the White, apparently.

They listened in awe as he told them of his message to Gwaihir, King of the Eagles, and of how his flying friend rescued him from the top of Orthanc, to leave him in Rivendell, where he told of their company’s plight to Lord Elrond.

“So it was you who told Elrond that we were in trouble?” asked Emma, confused. “This might seem like a stupid question, but... Why didn’t you come yourself? You knew where we were, apparently.” She frowned, realizing something. “Hang on,” she said, “how did you know the Nazgúl were chasing us anyway?”

Gandalf rubbed his wrinkled forehead, looking like he had all the cares of the world.

“Saruman made no secret of the knowledge he had gained from his seeing-stone.” he said darkly. “He told me the Nine had been sent from Minas Morgul to search for the Ring, and kill the one who bears it. As for where you were,” he added on a lighter tone and smiling slightly at Emma, “wizards have their tricks, my dear. What are we if we reveal all our secrets, hm?”

Emma smiled in return and shrugged her concession.

Her companions weren’t smiling, though. Gandalf’s tale was grave news indeed.

“So let me get this straight,” Hook said, fiddling with his rum. “Frodo is carrying the one thing that would make that bastard Sauron’s control complete, and his most deadly creatures are chasing us as we speak. On top of that, one our our would-be most powerful allies has just turned to the other side. Oh, and my Jolly Roger is stuck on top of that bloody tree.”

David winced. “Call me a pessimist,” he sighed, “but those odds aren’t exactly in our favour.”

“Glad you agree, mate. Especially about my ship.”

Emma glanced at her friend - oops, father - surprised. “You’re talking as though we’re part of this war.” she remarked in a whisper.

Her companions looked at her, matching expressions of surprise on their faces.

“Of course we are, Emma.” Snow said, looking like she couldn’t quite believe what her daughter had just said. “We’ve been part of this war the moment we decided to travel with Frodo and help him.”

Emma looked away, embarrassed. She shouldn’t have said that. She recalled her fight with Snow in the woods beside Amon-Súl - it hadn’t been mentioned at all since. It made her feel hot and guilty all over when she recalled the things that had been said. Especially about Snow’s conviction their current mission was to save not only Frodo, but the whole of Middle-Earth. When she thought about it it seemed obvious: Frodo had been their host, their friend. It was natural to return the immense kindness he had shown them. Emma wanted to help Frodo - truly she did, but...her every instinct as a mother was pulling her away from this war. Every minute her mind strayed back to Henry, telling her not to get involved in order to find her son.

“Emma has a point, though.” Regina interjected unexpectedly. “We wanted to help Frodo get the Ring to somewhere safe, and we have. Now we can go back to finding Henry.”

“But... What about Frodo? And the Ring? Will it stay here?” asked Emma, unsure of what to think of anymore.

Regina glanced coolly at her. “Miss Swan, while perhaps you have been enjoying this...holiday,” she said, her mouth twisting in contempt.“I do hope you haven’t forgotten the true motive of our journey: to find Henry.”  The former queen leaned back against a pillar and crossed her arms defensively. “I, on the other hand, have been worried about my son for every minute of every hour. We’ve fulfilled our purpose of bringing Frodo and the Ring safely to wherever the wizard said. I say we leave as soon as possible to find Henry.”

Emma exchanged a glance with her parents. Regina’s words resonated with truth, but with a truth so sad yet realistic that it filled her with guilt; firstly because they weren’t currently trying to find Henry, secondly because that meant they would soon be abandoning Frodo and his friends.

Mary-Margaret looked uncomfortable. “Guys,” she hissed, “d’you think we could talk about this later?” she glanced meaningfully at the onlooking hobbits and Gandalf. The hobbits were wearing matching expressions of confusion on their faces, and Gandalf like he knew something they didn’t.

Emma blinked. She’d completely forgotten their presence. “Sure.” she said hurriedly. “Right. Sorry.” She rubbed her lap nervously. “So,” she started again, “What’s next? Does anyone have a plan?”

Gandalf puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Of sorts.” he growled. “One which, I fear, will not surprise you miss Swan -  nor you, Milady Mills. I doubt you will like it, though.”

  
  



	8. The Council of Elrond

"WHAT?!"

Gandalf surveyed Emma with a stern face, but not entirely hiding the twinkle in his eye.

The object of his scrutiny pulled herself out of her chair a lighting-speed. Emma crossed the space between her and the wizard in two paces before planting herself directly in front of him, arms crossed and a murderous look on her face. Behind her, Hook made a sympathetic gesture aimed at the old man - something between a wince and a wink.

"What do you mean, you won't tell us?" Emma fumed, eyes shooting daggers at Gandalf. "This is the third bloody time in one day that someone won't bloody tell me what the bloody hell is going on! Saving it for later, are you? Who do you think you are?"

Gandalf looked remarkably unabashed at her outburst. If anything, he looked rather amused. Before he could answer however, Emma was ranting on again.

"Why won't you tell us about this famous plan of yours? Haven't we done enough to gain your trust already? Or do you think we're not worthy of being part of this great scheme?" Emma shot at him. "Because this is all some big game to you, isn't it? ‘Oh, just send Frodo and his new friends on some wild treasure hunt, nothing bad can happen to them; well, apart from being eaten by trees, changed into zombies, drowned in an enchanted river or nearly impaled by wraiths!’ Well, I'm telling you now, mister" she said, poking him in the chest (Hook and David covered their faces to hide their grins) "- either tell us what your effing plan is, or you can count us out of the entire thing!"

Emma fell silent again, glaring at the wizard with enough heat to make the sun feel ashamed.

Gandalf's amused look had gone, though. He took another puff from his pipe and considered the angry young woman in front of him. At last, he spoke.

"Miss Swan, I beg of you, please calm yourself." He said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder and steering her a little further from him (out of precaution, Hook thought). "I understand how frustrating this must be for you - No, truly I do," he continued, holding up a hand to stop another flow of fierce accusations. "You are anxious about your son, disorientated in a world that is unfamiliar to you, and you are only just recovering from a wound more severe than I think any of us have seen in our lives. However," he continued after a pause, "I may also have to remind you that this is not merely your own safety that is at stake - but that of the whole world."

The wizard eyed them all sternly. "All of you here were present when I told of the Ring to Frodo. It is altogether evil. We must do all we can to rid the world of it." He glanced at Emma - who still had her arms crossed so tightly it was a wonder she wasn't suffocating - and his piercing glare softened a little.

"I understand that my actions can appear to have been more than questionable from your point of view," (Emma snorted) "but as I implored you to calm down earlier, hear me now the same when I ask you to trust me. I knew the Prancing Pony was the safest place for you outside of the Shire, for I had sent the best warrior I know to your aid there. I knew that the Ringwraiths were after you, so I sent the Lady Arwen and the Lord Glorfindel to rescue your company."

Gandalf sighed and sat down again. He eyed Emma sternly. "Miss Swan, as I understand, you and your companions have come here to save your son, Henry. It seems to me you came on this journey - from the moment you left your world - knowing that it would not be without danger. If so, let me ask you this: if you knew of the dangers, why are you so angry that they are finally happening to you?"

Emma stared at the old man, taken aback. It was almost as though he knew her thoughts. She said nothing for a few seconds, deciding whether to answer or not.

"Because they weren't for Henry." She admitted finally. "Whatever we went through until now wasn't so that we could find him. It was to help Frodo."

Gandalf inclined his head gravely.

"As I thought." He murmured. "No doubt you feel guilty that you are risking your lives to help a friend, but not your own son."

Emma gave a small, terse nod.

Gandalf leaned in a little and did the last thing Emma expected him to: he smiled. A smile so warm and kind all her anger melted away to be replace by sorrow.

"Then let me tell you, Miss Swan," he said gently, "that every single thing you have done so far has not only brought you closer to your son, but also helped to find him."

Before Emma could question him further on this rather mysterious note, Gandalf rose again and picked up his staff.

"Come, now." He said cheerily. "Frodo is awake, and the world seems a brighter place for that!"

With that, he dipped his pointy hat at them and took his leave through the arched doorway of Frodo's room.

Emma gaped. What was it with that man and his entrances and departures? Surely he was practicing them! She turned and fumed at her companions.

"Can you believe him?" she hissed, some of the anger returning to her. "He just expects us to shut up and do as we're told."

Hook grinned at her. "Oh, I doubt he expects that of you, princess. I seem to recall you don't take any notice of anyone's orders but your own."

Emma avoided his gaze. An image of the beanstalk swam into her mind. Emma remembered how she'd decided to go up with Hook, regardless of what her companions thought.

"Still." She muttered, miffed. "That man's even more mysterious than you, Gold."

Rumplestiltskin smiled sardonically. "Oh, I highly doubt that, dearie."

Emma shrugged; she wasn't in the mood to banter with the room's most dangerous person - nor with anyone, really. "Well, I'm going after him." She resolved, scowling. "I'm going to find him and tell him that if we're going to be part of his big plans for the future, then he is going to have to start trusting us. And he’ll start by telling us exactly what the hell is going on."

With that, she flounced out of the room to search for the wizard.

David sighed as he watched her go.

"Somehow I didn't imagine Frodo's waking up scene to be like this." He remarked.

"You're telling me." murmured Frodo, who was still sitting on the bed with his fellow hobbits.

"It didn't start off too badly." Mary-Margaret chided her husband, nudging him in the ribs.

"Until Emma decided to show off that notorious temper of hers." interjected Hook helpfully. Mary-Margaret glowered at him, but surprisingly David made a sound of agreement.

"Our little girl's growing up." He sighed, putting an arm around Snow's waist. "And she takes after you, Snow."

 

0o0o0o0o0

 

Emma skidded as she turned a corner at a jog, scanning the corridors for a sight of the grey-haired wizard. She was sprinting past a particularly beautiful statue with a sword on its lap when she heard a familiar chuckle. She stopped, panting a little. Gandalf was sitting on a small marble bench, puffing at his pipe again.

"You were looking for me, Milady Swan." He said. "It appears you have found me."

Emma stared at him, still slightly out-of-breath.

"You... knew I was coming? She asked uncertainly.

He gave her the faintest of winks and an amused smile.

"My dear lady I don't wear this hat to keep my head warm or to look pretty - if I wore one any bigger I'm afraid I would suffocate - but it always takes people an extraordinary amount of effort to remember that I am a wizard, after all." He chuckled, coughing on some smoke a little.

Emma felt herself smile in return. What was it about this guy that just made you forget all your anger? She should keep him as a pet - he'd be very useful during her most stressful days as sheriff.

She cleared her throat, uncomfortable once more under his clear, piercing blue gaze.

“I – er... came ask you... No, to tell you that – well, see, the thing is... The thing is...” Emma clasped her hands and squeezed them together, not sure why she was so tongue-tied. Gandalf raised his eyebrows.

“I – well, we – wanted to tell you that you’re gonna have to trust us as much as you want us to trust you if you want us to help in this thing.” She finally let out in a rush.

Gandalf puffed out a wisp of smoke. “Yes,” he mused. “I seem to have gotten that impression when you were busy shouting at me a few minutes ago.”

Emma kept his gaze. She refused to look away or feel sorry for standing up to him.

“I said what I thought and felt.” She asserted. “Trust goes both ways, and right now it looks like it’s mostly flowing from us to you. I suggest you start repairing that soon, else you’ll find you have six less people to count on.”

Emma took a few steps forward and leaned on the sculpted fence beside the bench Gandalf was sitting on. She looked straight into the wizard’s eyes.

“Because that’s what you want, isn’t it? Your idea, your... your ‘big plan’. It’s to help Frodo do whatever has to be done about the Ring, am I right?”

Gandalf peered up at her, his wise old eyes betraying nothing.

“Trust.” he repeated. “Two ways. Mutual, in fact.” he mused, puffing at his pipe again. He sighed deeply, his lined face troubled with a sense of hesitation Emma had never seen there before. Finally, he appeared to make a decision and surveyed her seriously.

“I believe you are right, Miss Swan.” he said. “Trust goes both ways. Which is why I will now tell you something I have told no-one else, and it will be your choice entirely as to how to inform your companions, or indeed at all.”

Emma tensed, her curiosity aflame. Something he had told no-one else? In that case, why tell her? This was presumably about her companions as well, so why would she be the one to decide?

Gandalf looked grave, and he finally spoke the words wich would change Emma’s view of Middle-Earth forever.

“Your son is here, in Middle-Earth. His abductors have joined with Saruman, and he is their captive.”

Emma’s arms dropped to her sides, as lifeless as she suddenly felt.

“What did you say?” she whispered.

Gandalf repeated what he had said. He placed a hand on her shoulder as she stared at him, stunned.

“I am truly sorry, Milady,” he said gently. “but I have no further information, be it on his welfare or his situation.”

“How?” Emma croaked. “How do you know this?”

Gandalf’s face darkened slightly. “The seeing-stone was not the only thing Saruman showed me. With him were the two humans you told me of. One man, one woman - the former pale as the lost folk of Númenor, the other dark as a Haradrim. They were also very clearly from the same world as you. I am afraid they have joined him, Miss Swan.”

Emma turned away, running a hand through her hair, her mind racing. Henry was here - alive - in Middle-Earth! Part of her leaped with joy at these news, for her boy was alive and well - and what’s more, they knew where he was! But the more realistic part of her, her heart included, sank. Greg and Tamara had taken him to Saruman, the one Gandalf said had betrayed his order. How the bloody hell were they supposed to save him from there?

Emma spun back to face Gandalf again.

“Are you sure you know nothing?” she asked sharply. “The smallest detail could make the world of difference; think back - please!”

Gandalf shook his head. “I fear I know nothing more.” he said gently. “Saruman did not even mention his new associates, and I did not get the chance to speak with your son’s abductors. I heard them mention the boy, from which I reasoned he was alive, but of Henry himself I did not catch a glimpse of.”

Still overwhelmed by these bittersweet news, Emma sank down onto the bench beside him. Confused thoughts clouded her mind, and she could not think straight. It was a couple of minutes before Gandalf prompted her back to reality.

“Might I ask how you are going to tell your companions?”

Emma jumped and stared at him blankly. “Why would that be difficult in any way?”

Gandalf blinked, apparently surprised.

“You would tell them of your son’s situation now, even as Frodo has only just awoken? What would their reaction be, do you suppose?”

It was Emma’s turn to blink. “Well, they’d... They’d want to leave at once to find him, I suppose. Why would that be wrong?” she asked, frowning.

“Because, Milady, your task here in Rivendell is not done yet.” Gandalf said patiently. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Hang on,” she said crossly. “you’re doing it again: the mysterious, wise old wizard who knows more than everybody else. What do you mean, task? What task?”

“Frodo is still recovering, and he needs you and your companions alongside him. What you have suffered all together is far greater than anyone should, and indeed more than what most have endured. That forges a bond for life, Miss Swan.”

Emma peered up at him. Her lying detector was tingling again - that hadn’t happened since the Shire. Somehow, Gandalf was leaving something out. He wasn’t telling her the whole truth. She narrowed her eyes.

“So,” she concluded, “you want me to hold on to the fact that my son is, in fact, alive, until the opportune moment - that is, until our ‘task’ is completed - even when every single one of my companions has worried about Henry as much as I have?”

Gandalf looked uncomfortable. “In essence, that is correct. But I think you misunderstand me, Miss Swan; this is not the task of you and your companions as a whole, but your own.”

Emma stared at him in disbelief. Oh, God, not again. It had been hard enough being the Saviour, what was this new role of hers supposed to be?

“Mine?” she repeated. “Why me? What’s so special about me?”

Gandalf looked at her knowingly. “I think you know, Miss Swan. Think back.”

Reluctantly, Emma’s mind jumped from her role as the Saviour in Storybrooke, to the purple light that had exploded from within her on Weathertop, to her unexpectedly rapid recovery after her injuries. A sudden realization hit her.

“Oh, God.” she winced, half exasperated. “It wouldn’t be love again, perchance?”

Gandalf’s eyes twinkled.

“But... Wait, hang on -I don’t get it,” Emma protested, rubbing her eyes in frustration. “What has that got anything to do with Frodo, or the Ring?”

Gandalf’s arms widened in a gesture of passive helplessness. “As to that, I have no idea.” he said simply. “Even wizards do not know the answers to all questions.”

Emma leaned back against the wall, her mind horribly confused and unwilling to co-operate. Half of it was still rejoicing at the thought of the news concerning Henry, but the other half was completely stunned by this new and rather less-than-welcome revelation. She glanced tiredly at Gandalf.

“How do you even know all this?” she asked flatly.

Gandalf eyed her sternly. “Miss Swan, nothing ever happens in Middle-Earth for no reason. Your coming was not accidental, nor were your actions ever since. You are here for a purpose, and you cannot leave until you have fulfilled it.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Yeah? I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Gold, no matter what he had done, was still a very powerful wizard. This world had wizards and magic as well, surely he would find a way of leaving it, given time.

The old man sighed. “I see you are resolved not to believe me, or heed my counsel.” He got up and picked up his staff. “Take care, Milady.” he warned gravely. “I think you will soon find just how difficult your position can be if you refuse to accept that you have a task here other than saving your son.”

With that, he nodded cordially and left.

Emma watched him go. Surprisingly, she felt next to nothing as all the knowledge she had gained in these precious few minutes washed over her mind. So, to recap: Henry was alive but a captive, she had a mysterious task to do in Middle-Earth, and she and her companions had been taken here for a reason. And somehow, Emma felt that reason was connected to the task she was supposedly here for.

Emma huffed loudly. Conversations with Gandalf often seemed to take their toll on participants.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Emma found her companions lounging on the balcony outside Frodo’s room.

Snow and Frodo were sitting on a bench with Bilbo, looking at a massive red book Emma recognized to be Bilbo’s biography. She smiled, having grown to like the old hobbit very much. While they had only exchanged a smile at the party and not a word afterwards, Bilbo had been one of her companions who had not left her side as she lay unconscious after the wraith’s attack. Emma had greatly appreciated the few hours with him after her awakening, cooped up as she had been in her room – although at first the shock of seeing Bilbo in Rivendell was not something she was likely to forget soon.

Emma made her way to them, her insides squirming excitedly as she recalled what Gandalf had told her about Henry.

Snow looked at her, a question ready in her eyes.

Emma grinned a little distractedly. “I found Gandalf,” she said with a shrug, “and I told him we wouldn’t help if he wasn’t able to confide in us. I said we’d have to establish a compromise for his ‘big plan’ to work.”

Snow grinned back. “What did he say to that?” she asked, her tone suggesting she already knew.

Emma snorted softly. “I think he was pretty surprised to have a woman telling him what compromise was and standing up to a man’s ideas.” She confessed. “Middle-Earth is great and all, but I think it’d benefit a lot from a few feminist societies. I’m sure our world could spare a few.”

Snow laughed. “I’m inclined to agree.” she confirmed. “I had to expressly forbid Strider to carry me on the second day after the wraith’s attack, on the way to Rivendell. Chivalry’s all the rage, here.”

“I wish it would be in our world.” Emma muttered. “I think it would benefit from a few notions of this world, too. I’m pretty sure a few men I’ve dated have never even heard of the term.”

Frodo cleared his throat significantly. “May I ask what you ladies are talking about?” he asked mildly.

Emma and Snow exchanged a guilty but amused smile. They had both forgotten the hobbits’ presence, including Bilbo’s, who was now choking on his pipe in good-natured mirth at the two women’s discomfort. They chuckled nervously and didn’t answer.

Emma was busy berating herself, for she had not had the courage (was courage even the right word?) to tell her friend about Henry. Why was she even hesitating? Her companions would be overjoyed at the news!

You know why, a nasty little voice whispered inside her head. You want to keep your son to yourself. You don’t want to share his whereabouts, just like you don’t want to share him with anyone else.

That’s not true, Emma thought, desperately casting around for excuses. It’s just... Gandalf said I had better wait until I tell them.

And since when do you do what Gandalf says? I seem to recall you don’t seem to particularly relish his instructions...

A loud clatter of hooves interrupted her morbid thoughts, startling her a little.

Curious, Emma approached the edge of the balcony, peering over to see what the commotion was all about. As it turned out, a large company had just arrived in the yard. Their leader was now dismounting, and he stared in awe at the spectacular beauty of his surroundings. He had rusty brown hair – rather longer than was necessary, in Emma’s opinion – travel-stained clothes and a magnificent horn at his side. The man led his companions up Rivendell’s entrance stairs, where he was greeted by an elf Emma knew was called Lindir.

Emma frowned. What was such a large company of men doing in Rivendell? She recalled Elrond once telling Gandalf how elves tended to keep to themselves as much as possible.

A second great clatter sounded as a second group of riders cantered into the courtyard. This time, the riders – rather short riders, Emma noticed – dismounted from frisky ponies. They had large, bushy beards and extremely heavy-looking armour, topped with large axes. Emma leaned on the balcony’s edge, fascinated. What was it with inhabitants of Middle-Earth and weapons? Everybody seemed to own a least a dozen. Well, she could talk; she still had her gun as a sheriff, after all.

The new guests also made their way to the stairs, stout and hardy, but also surprisingly nimble considering what they were wearing.

“Dwarves.” whispered Frodo, startling Emma a little. “They’ve come at Lord Elrond’s bidding.”

Emma guessed she should be surprised at another mention of fantastical creatures, but really: after two years in Storybrooke, she’d exhausted her supply of surprised expressions. She watched as the strange little men stomped into Rivendell, idly wondering what Leroy would say if he found out that his kind here were a couple of feet shorter than they were in the Enchanted Forest.

A third clatter of hooves resounded as yet another company of riders galloped into Rivendell’s hidden valley. Judging by the height and beauty of the riders, these were clearly elves. Yet even Emma’s untrained eye could see these were different to the ones she had met in Rivendell so far. Most of the newcomers were fair and decidedly more warrior-like – they all wore leather armour over their traveling clothes, and had swords and bows slung over their backs. Their pale hair and features made Emma think they were rather more northern than their kinfolk from Rivendell – although Frodo sniggered when she voiced her thoughts, and said they were the eastern-most elves of Middle-Earth.

“These are elves from Mirkwood.” He explained. “For years it has been said they are constantly repelling attacks from lethal, ghastly creatures. Bilbo says they’re mostly Ungoliant – giant spiders with a venomous sting. But I’m not sure I believe him.” He added with a laugh. “He said they can be as big as two horses piled on top of each other!”

Emma wasn’t listening anymore. One of the elven riders was dismounting – the leader, by the look of him. He was tall, lithe, and had the palest hair of all his companions. The rider looked around him, taking in every inch of the scenery around him. For a split-second, his eyes met Emma’s. She froze, fascinated but also strangely embarrassed, unable to move. He turned away almost immediately to give an order to his followers, but Emma could have sworn she’d seen a slight smile appear on his face.

“Emma?” asked Frodo, nudging her gently. “Emma?”

“Who is that?” she asked absently.

“That is Legolas Greenleaf.” said a voice.

Emma whirled around to see Strider looking at her with a rather knowing twinkle in his eye.

“As Mr Baggins here has correctly observed,” he continued. “Legolas and his companions are from the deep forest of Mirkwood. Long has he been my friend and comrade in arms.”

Emma turned to stare at the back of the elven stranger.

“He’s very... Striking.” she murmured, almost to herself.

Strider smirked. “Yes, the ladies often seem very taken with him - although I must say I’ve never seen him return the interest.”

He bowed slightly (was it a little mockingly too?) and retreated, while Emma blushed. Why had she said that? Now she looked like a crush-prone teenager as well as a complete ignorant. She tore her eyes away from the horde of handsome (stop it!) elves in the courtyard. Perhaps if she stayed well away from those sorts of things she would avoid embarrassing herself.

She heard the regular tap, shuffle, tap, shuffle of Gold limping along with his cane. He descended the few stairs that lead onto the sunlit terrace, looking remarkably pleased with himself.

“Ah, Miss Swan - and your lady mother, I see. Perhaps you could be so kind as to follow me, I have some private and urgent matters I would like to discuss with you.”

Emma frowned. Private matters? And urgent, which made them sound even worse, let alone the fact Gold was bringing them up.

Frodo looked up, curious, and Bilbo tried to look serene as he puffed pipe-smoke, but couldn’t entirely hide his interest either.

“Are we to come as well, Mr Gold?” asked the younger hobbit politely. “May we be of any assistance?”

Gold smiled strangely, almost as though he were hiding something. “Oh no, Mr Baggins. I thank you for your concern, but I’m afraid these matters are...ah - somewhat confidential. I can assure you you need not worry yourself - they are merely to do with my companions and I.” he said courteously enough but finished with his signature half-smile, as only Gold could.

Frodo nodded, though clearly a little disappointed. Perhaps he wanted to do something other than enjoying the sun and riffling through books in bed. Curious now, Emma exchanged a puzzled glance with Mary-Margaret and followed Gold through a series of graceful arches, bright corridors and airy rooms. So it was something of a surprise when their guide ducked through a rather small door into a dark room, lit only by a fire in the hearth. Emma followed suite, suddenly blinded a little by the lack of light. As her eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, she noticed the room resembled a library: there were books lining every possible space on the walls (in which there were no windows), books piled onto the few tables around the rooms, rolls of parchment heaped on top of them, with finally quills and pots of ink precariously balanced at the top of the piles. Emma even caught sight of a few dried plants and leaves hanging above the small mantelpiece. If she hadn’t known better, Emma would have thought she’d been teleported to one of Bilbo’s little libraries in Bag End.

David, Hook, Regina and - surprisingly, thought Emma -  Gandalf were already there, seated on rudimentary wooden chairs or perched gingerly on the edge of a table.

Gold took his position in front of the table facing the fire, so that the rest of his companions could clearly see his face, lit only by the flickering flames of the hearth (he had closed the door behind Mary-Margaret). Even in the dim light, the hatred and the contempt was clear on Hook’s face as he surveyed his archenemy.

“Now that we are all gathered,” he began, leaning on his cane (the thought suddenly occurred to Emma that he had walked, with only a cane to aid his disability, as far as they all had - she wondered just how hard that must have been for him) “I can expose a few facts and theories I have been forming over the few weeks we’ve spent in this land, especially since the rather extraordinary show Miss Swan gave on Weathertop.”

He paused. His words were greeted with silence, a puff of smoke from Gandalf, an uncomfortable squirm from Emma and a raised eyebrow from Hook, but undivided attention from all of them.

“Since our arrival in Middle-Earth, we have encountered foreign races, other-worldly creatures (Well, duh, thought Emma, we are in another world), a wizard,” he nodded to Gandalf, whose face betrayed absolutely nothing behind a thin veil of smoke, “and yet no actual magic.”

“From the very first instant we landed here, I knew there was magic present in this land. I knew just as our Queen and Miss Swan did, simply because we could not have arrived here had it not been present. Yet why couldn’t we use it? I seem to recall we were fairly idle in the Shire, yet we took no time to experiment or practice magic. Why? As to that, I have no idea. But I can now tell you that magic is no longer the mystery it was for me when we first landed.”

Emma leaned forward in her chair, eager for more. She hoped whatever Gold was going to say would be worth the while, especially since she’d only just discovered where Henry was.

“As I said, the rather outstanding display of magic Emma gave was most revealing to me. I began to wonder why the power exploded out of her at that particular moment. What had triggered such magic? Was it fear for her companions? Fear for herself? Courage, perhaps?”

“We all know Emma is the child of Snow White and Prince Charming, and a product of true love - a gift which we have witnessed more than once to have its value. Technically, Emma is true love. Technically, she is magic. Why then, had it not manifested itself beforehand, when we were being pursued by those wraiths as we left the Shire, when we where in equal danger?”

David and Mary-Margaret exchanged an equally confused look, and David squeezed his wife’s hand reassuringly.

Gold paused and stared straight at Emma, who sat rigidly in her chair, wondering where on earth this was going.

“A possible answer came to me as we halted in the Trollshaws. I recall Mary-Margaret telling her daughter that nothing seemed to have triggered the magic, except that it happened just as she witnessed Frodo being stabbed by the Rider. The hobbits, as we all know, are tiny - the size of children in fact.” He trailed off, looking pointedly at Emma.

Emma’s hand went limp and she let it fall at her side. She knew what had happened. “I saw Henry.” she remembered. “When the wraith stabbed Frodo, his face looked like Henry’s, and I thought he was the one who was hurt...the one who was dying.”

Gold nodded, not looking in the least bit surprised. “As I suspected.” he confirmed. “Your love for your child, dormant until that moment, sprang into being as you saw your son’s features in your friend’s pain. Your love for Henry triggered the magic and saved us all. I suspect it also protected you from the usually fatal effects of the Nazgúl. Strider himself said it was most unusual for a person to survive injuries of that nature.”

Emma rubbed her face with her palms, understanding suddenly rushing through her mind. The pain of seeing someone dying - someone she momentarily thought was Henry - had kindled the flame in her heat into veritable wildfire. Love. Again.

She glanced at Gandalf through her fingers. She had to assume Gold had told him everything, seeing as he was here: who they were, what had happened to Henry, where they were from, what part magic had in their lives. He was looking at her too. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes held the question that was currently occupying the whole of her mind since her last conversation with him: Will you tell them about Henry, now?

She didn’t know why she found it such a difficult question to answer: Henry was related to all of them in one way or another - even Hook was something like his step-grandfather (Oh God, she’d never thought of that before...) It was so unfair of her to keep such crucial information from them, so why was she even hesitating? Maybe Gold was rubbing off on her: reveal an inkling of information, but keep the real nugget to yourself.

Suddenly, Emma was aware of everyone staring at her. She glanced at Gandalf, rubbing her hands on her jeans, nervous for some reason. But she wanted to be sure. What do I do? She asked him in her mind. If he was a wizard, now was the time to prove it.

His gaze remained unchanged, but his eyes yet again carried a message: I won’t tell them if you don’t. Well, at least she had a guarantee, now. She took a deep breath.

“If we have magic back,” she started, “that means we can start looking for Henry again.” Her parents grinned and nodded, and Hook started to laugh, but Emma interrupted them again. “But - I don’t know what to do.” she admitted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gandalf cock his head slightly. She could sense his curiosity. She took a deep breath once more.

“We have no idea where Henry is, how he is, whether he’s still with Greg and Tamara, and even if... If he’s still alive.” she croaked, the lies spilling from her mouth awkwardly, though she knew her hesitance would pass as fear for her son. She sensed more than saw Gandalf relax at her words. Her thoughts inexplicably turned bitter at his visible relief.  We know, she wanted to shout, we know, but I can’t say because of your stupid plans!

She was saved from the need of any further talk by Regina, who was frowning and looking confused.

“But I’m his mother,” she argued, anger starting to flare in her eyes, along with - Emma suspected - a little jealousy. “Why didn’t the magic work for me? We were all under attack, and I saw Frodo getting stabbed as well.”

Emma looked at her pityingly. She understood what the queen was going through well enough, even though she’d never felt it herself. But she understood how horrible it must be to learn that her love wasn’t enough to save a life.

Gold, however, took a more diplomatic approach. “I imagine what happened to Emma was more complex, Your Majesty. She is the child of true love - her affinity with magic is natural, some would say even normal. No-one here doubts your love for Henry, but I suspect the magic simply took the simpler, most natural route - it was channeled through true love; which, of course, Emma is. I also think the conditions for you were different: you were further away from Frodo, and so you could not see his features clearly. You were also concentrating on other matters, such as staying alive.” He finished with a rare, warm smile. “We all know you love Henry just as much as Miss Swan does, Madame Mayor.”

Regina let out a long, shaky breath, still looking as though she was holding back tears. But there was also shock in her eyes at Gold’s genuine warmth. Emma too was having trouble with her prior enemy’s attitude: had affection for Henry turned him into a doting grandfather? It hardly seemed likely.

It was David’s turn for questions. “How do we know we can use magic, though?” he asked, frowning. “I mean, I know Emma can, now. But she hasn’t exactly got much experience, has she? And I gather it takes time to learn.” he finished pointedly.

Gold smiled, amused. “My dear prince, I can show you right now how we can use the magic here, if you like.”

To everyone’s surprise, he set his cane on the table beside him and stood straight in full view of all of them. He stretched out his palms in front of him and closed his eyes. Soon, purple light began shining out of his palms, turning to purple smoke as it left his flesh. Under the spectators’ stupefied eyes, the smoke billowed, expanded and curled around Gold, increasing in volume, until he was completely hidden from sight by the veil of purple haze. Emma, like the others, shot up from her chair, a cry of alarm on her lips. The power and magic in the small stuffy room was palpable, she could almost touch it. The smoke cleared, and Gold reappeared - only he was different. His clothes had changed - he now wore a strange suit of what looked like maroon crocodile skin. His skin remained un-scaled, and his eyes were as cold and murky as ever. Magic was still pulsing around his palms, but the purple light slowly faded, until his eyes glowed briefly purple and then died.

Gold - whom Emma had a shrewd idea was actually the real Rumplestiltskin instead of Storybrooke’s most feared pawnbroker - now stood straighter and seemed the taller for it. He flexed his legs experimentally, hopped a couple of times on each leg and grinned appreciatively. Under his companions’ bewildered stares, he sauntered over to his cane, bent over it, and flicked the stick carelessly onto the floor, where it fell with a clatter. He laughed excitedly and clapped his hands.

“ ‘Ello, dearies.” he crooned. “Glad to see me?”

Emma found herself pointing her gun at him, her instincts telling her this new Gold was dangerous - perhaps even more than the last.

“A makeover and a personality change? Tell me you haven’t changed anything else.”

Gold - Rumplestiltskin now - laughed, folding his hands consideringly. “Well, no, I suppose not, really. Apart from a rather stunning new outfit and the relief of a flawless leg I haven’t changed anything else, no. Like the clothes?” He asked, posing with a flourish.

The others just stared at him, wariness clear on their faces. Hook looked as though his worst nightmare had come true. Gandalf alone looked unperturbed.

“How did you do that?” Regina asked, incredulous. “You said only love could bring magic back to us. True love.”

Gold held up a finger, grin fixed anew. “Ah. Yes. You see, unlike you, I have two people I love, and who love me back. My son, and Belle.”

“Your son’s dead.” Regina snapped. Emma could see the evil queen returning. “And Belle isn’t here.”

Rumplestiltskin cackled. “Neither was Henry, last I looked.”

“But Regina’s right: Baelfire is dead.” Snow said gently. “Tamara shot him, and Emma saw him go through the portal.”

For the first time since his new appearance, the grin slid from Rumplestiltskin’s face. He fixed Snow with a beady eye.

“Did you stop loving your mother when Cora killed her? Or even your father when our dear queen killed him? Did you stop loving Emma in the short while you remembered you had abandoned her?”

Tears threatened to spill down Snow’s cheeks. She shook her head silently, and turned to David’s arms. The prince glared at the imp furiously, which the latter returned coldly.

“Whatever I’ve done, whoever I am, I still love my son. He was - is - the single most important thing in my life, wretched as it is. Belle comes as a very close second. My love both the both of them combined was enough to bring my magic back.”

Emma’s grip on her gun shifted, she was tempted to lower it. But all the stories from Henry’s book came flooding back to her, and she held on tighter still, remembering the totally unpredictable character of the person who was most unexpectedly in front of her.

“That still doesn’t explain why you got your magic back.” Emma pointed out. “I thought Henry was physically there when the magic burst out of me; neither Neal nor Belle are here.”

Gold shrugged. “You know as well as I do that when someone is gone they stay with you forever - in your heart. Perhaps the mere memory of Baelfire and Belle was enough to summon my powers back. And I might just stress, Miss Swan,” he added a trifle testily, “that I am the most powerful person in the world in terms of magic - let alone among us here. It is natural my powers came back more readily than yours , simply because I have had so much more experience of them.”

Regina’s face darkened. “Then why can’t I?” she insisted acidly. “I have over half a century’s experience - surely that should be enough to summon my magic back as well!”

Gold sighed theatrically. “Diplomacy, I see, won’t reassure you,  will it?” Regina made to answer but Gold shushed her with a rigid hand. “That was rhetorical. Very well, I will be blunt: Emma has her magic back because she shares a connection with her son which you will never have, Regina. She is his biological mother, while you are not.”

The hurt in Regina’s face was as clear as daylight. The queen, usually so cold and expressionless, paled, and her eyes dulled. She looked down, and said no more.

Emma felt sorry for her. More, indeed, than she had any call to be. This was the woman who had tried to kill her on numerous occasions to get her adoptive son back, and yet here she pitied the queen when someone pointed out Emma’s natural right to Henry. Emma frowned at Gold.

“But they will come back” she said pointedly. “We all know she loves Henry as much as I do. It’s only matter of time until her powers return.”

Regina landed a flat stare on Emma. The latter thought she could see a glimmer of hope in them, and even perhaps a little gratitude. It was hard to tell, with the firelight.

For the first time, Gandalf intervened.

“Seeing as you are now all up-to-date on your situation in Middle-Earth, perhaps I may make an announcement of my own?”

The others nodded, taken somewhat by surprise.

Gandalf stood, still smoking his abnormally long pipe. Emma wondered if it was natural for the cloud of smoke to remain around him as he moved, or if it was magic. Either way, the hazy veil still didn’t disguise his keen eyes. Once again, every member of the company who met his gaze felt like they were being x-rayed.

“Lord Elrond has asked me to request your presence at a council he will be hosting tomorrow. The aim of this conclave will be to determine the fate of the Ring, which remains to be decided. Some of you may have noticed the arrival of several companies of strangers, all of which have come in answer to Lord Elrond’s call.”

Gandalf chuckled. “Actually I had to convince him to summon the female members of your own company as well, for women in this land do not take part in such matters.” Emma exchanged a glance with Snow and Regina, matching expressions of outrage on their faces.

Sensing they were about to protest at this ridiculous show of male hierarchy, Gandalf held up a gentle hand, still smiling. “Luckily, Lord Elrond realizes the seriousness of the situation and has quite willingly granted all three of you a place in his council.”

The three women calmed down a little, actually quite flattered Elrond had made such a concession especially for them.

“The council will take place tomorrow afternoon. I trust you will all be there, for it will be of crucial importance to the fates of us all.”

With that, he nodded at them all, gathered his robes and took his leave to duck past the small doorway.

“What was that about entrances, Emma?” Mary-Margaret muttered. “Looks like he knows how to make his departures as well.”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

“Remind me what we’re doing here, lass?” Hook whispered in her ear.

Emma jumped and rubbed her tickling ear, scowling.

“We’re deciding what to do with that blasted Ring.” she muttered back.

“I was under the same impression, too. Only I wasn’t expecting a bloody history lesson instead.”

Emma couldn’t help but silently agree with him. It was late afternoon, and Elrond had been talking for two hours. At first, Emma had paid attention, and she gathered that their host was recounting the whole history of the Ring: its making and its path through history. It was so long Emma was pretty sure it accounted for the history of the whole of Middle-Earth.

At last, Elrond fell silent. In his place, a dwarf stood, and started telling them of some lost dwarf kingdom called Moria.

“So do you know what this Doria is?” Hook whispered after a few minutes of this.

“Moria. And no, except that it’s a dwarf kingdom.”

“What, as in it’s really small?”

Emma glared at him but couldn’t really hide the smile threatening to play on her mouth. She was so bored, anything could make her laugh. Well, except tales of lost kingdoms and creepy messengers who demanded a certain golden Ring, which another dwarf was now busy telling them all about. His description of the envoys uncomfortably reminded the Storybrooke companions of the Nazgúl, and Hook finally started to pay attention as he eventually caught the mention of a name he recognised: Sauron.

Emma glanced at the rest of her companions, all of whom expressed various degrees of boredom and awkwardness. Emma couldn’t blame them, to be honest. Everybody present had not stopped glancing at them the whole time Elrond spoke, and Emma was getting annoyed. She was grateful Elrond had given only brief and rather vague introductions, because she certainly wasn’t ready to socialize with a whole bunch of strangers.

Emma didn’t recognise the dwarf who was speaking. There were quite a few faces she recognised in the council, but around half of them were complete strangers to her. She noted the faces of Bilbo, Frodo, Gandalf, and of course Lord Elrond (Emma was pretty sure the two elves on either side of him were his twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir). There was also the stranger with rust-coloured hair she’d glimpsed the day before as he arrived. He couldn’t stop glancing at Emma, Snow and Regina, obviously astounded at their presence in such an important event - a reaction to which Emma just smirked, satisfied. Surprisingly, that mysterious ranger Strider was present as well. Emma had to admit he looked a lot better with his hair washed and no purple bags under his eyes. In fact, he looked just as lordly as the other men present.

Emma also recognised the statuesque beauty of the fair-haired elf she’d noticed the day before (More like stared at, a little voice whispered. Emma blushed unknowingly.) He seemed to recognise her as well, for he had nodded politely at her as she took her seat prior to the start of the council.

But now, Emma was bored. She hoped something would happen soon, or she might follow Hook’s example and start giggling at what her neighbors said. Frodo was sitting to her right, with Gandalf on his other side. The poor hobbit looked nervous, and even a little ill, despite the fact everyone had forced him to remain in his room as much as possible so he could rest and recover.

Emma placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently, giving him a small smile. “You okay?” she mouthed.

The hobbit nodded tersely, but returned the smile.

At last, the dwarf finished his tale, and Elrond rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You did well to tell us of this.” he mused. “Evidently the enemy is aware of the plight the Ring is, and has taken steps to reclaim it.” He sighed and gestured respectfully at Emma’s little neighbour.

“Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

Emma squeezed his shoulder once more and watched as Frodo walked to the center of the dais, and placed the Ring square in the middle of the small platform.

As soon as the hobbit’s hand let go of the Ring, its tempting glint of gold caught the eye of everybody present. Suddenly, Emma could feel the power which radiated from the small item. It called to her, promised things which she could barely dream of. The urge to get up and snatch it for herself dawned on her, and she glanced surreptitiously around her to check nobody was about to do the same thing.

Hook was staring at the Ring, looking scared, but fascinated. Gold too had his gaze fixed on it, his face betraying nothing, but Emma saw the greed and lust in his eyes. David was rubbing his forehead, as though trying to expel all dark thoughts and disturbing notions from his mind, while Snow held her husband’s hand, looking slightly bemused as she stared at the Ring.

The other members of the council were transfixed by it as well; especially, Emma noted with a hint of jealousy, the man with rusty hair, who looked like exactly the same desire as Emma’s was coursing through his own mind.

Fortunately, the tense silence was broken by the man in question. Less than two seconds had passed since Frodo had placed the Ring on the pedestal.

“So it is true.” he murmured, rubbing his beard. Emma snapped out of her trance, alarmed by the desire in the man’s voice. He stood up, looking around impressively.

“In a dream,” he said, each word bringing him closer to the ring, “I saw the Eastern side grow dark but in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: ‘Your doom is near at hand. Isildur’s Bane is found.”

He stretched his hand out, his face rapt with desire and fascination.

Gandalf jumped to his feet (He is one hell of an old man, Emma thought wryly.)

“Boromir!” Elrond shouted.

“Ash nazg durbatuluk.” The wizard thundered, and the sky turned dark as his voice lashed at them all, echoing darkly. “Ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.”

Boromir jerked his hand back, as though burned by the wizard’s words.

Shaken, Emma glanced at Elrond, who looked positively pissed off at Gandalf’s interference. “Never before has any voice uttered the word of that tongue here in Imladris.” he rebuked the wizard angrily.

“I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond.” Gandalf answered gruffly. “For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether evil.”

Boromir, who had regained his seat, shook his head. “It is a gift,” he insisted, “a gift to the foes of Mordor!” He got up again and paced the terrace. “Why not use this Ring? By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe - safe from orcs, wraiths and all manners of dark creatures, safe from Sauron himself. Give Gondor the Ring! Let us use it against him!”

Strider sighed impatiently, and Emma would have sworn he was about to roll his eyes. “You cannot wield it! None of us can.”

Boromir shot him a mistrustful glance, contempt clear on his face. “And what,” he growled, “would a ranger know of this matter?”

Strider shot him a clearly unimpressed look, while the blond elf and Emma shot to their feet. The elf made a rapid gesture at Emma for her speak first. She was fuming. She marched over to a flabbergasted Boromir and poked him in the chest.

“How dare you!” she snarled. “In just a single sentence, Strider demonstrated more wits and sound judgment than you have since the beginning of this meeting. We’re all oh, so sorry to break up your little love-affair with that bloody Ring, but you need to open your eyes, mister, and come to your senses.”

Emma paused for breath, glaring daggers at Boromir, who still seemed to be having trouble registering the fact a woman had verbally - well, and physically really - assaulted him.

“And as for talking to Strider like that,” she went on, “you’d better watch your mouth and shut it, or I’ll do it for you - which I can assure you would be to my uttermost pleasure right now. He’s one of the best men I know, which is probably the exact opposite of what I could say for you, and -”

“- his heart is in the right place.” Hook completed for her, surprising all his companions along with himself. He never said things like that, he thought, frowning -  and certainly not on a whim.

Emma took a deep breath and visibly calmed down. She went back to her seat, avoiding her parents’ shocked and somewhat alarmed faces, although David was slowly starting to grin. She also missed the nothing short of admiring glance the blond elf shot at her.

“He is also no mere ranger,” said elf added quietly, his clear blue eyes as sharp and piercing as Emma’s words. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.”

Boromir, still not completely recovered from Emma shouting at him, stared disbelievingly at Strider - or, as Emma supposed now, Aragorn. She was as confused as the rest of her companions - Strider had a secret identity? This was starting to look like a movie!

“Aragorn?” he repeated, bewilderment in his eyes. “This... Is Isildur’s heir?”

Oh, yay, more names to remember, thought Emma. This really can’t get any worse.

“And heir to the throne of Gondor.” the elf added pointedly.

Oh yes it really can, she amended, cursing her mind.

Hook’s ears pricked up at that. Strider? Heir to a throne? Fascinating...

Strider just looked embarrassed. He made a shushing gesture at the elf. “Havo dad, Legolas.” The elf sat down, still glowering at Boromir.

Boromir merely continued to glare icily at his new archenemy. Emma gathered he held an important position in this place called Gondor, or he wouldn’t look like he’d swallowed a basketful of lemons.

“An heir to the throne of Gondor,” he said flatly, “and Arnor, mayhap. But not yet her king. Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king.” he finished, contempt fixed anew in his tone.

Emma narrowed her eyes and shook her head at the oh-so-likable Gondorian. She hoped she would never see him again after this. How very wrong she was.

Fortunately, Gandalf intervened again. He glared at the men involved in the argument, though Emma would have sworn she saw a glint of amusement in his eye as she guiltily met his gaze.

“Aragorn is right,” he said slowly. “the Ring cannot be used.”

“We have but one choice.” Elrond agreed hurriedly. Emma suspected he was trying to regain control over the situation. “The Ring must be destroyed.”

The dwarf who’d told them of the creepy messengers earlier stood up and brandished a heavy and lethal-looking ax.

“Well, then what are we waiting for?” he growled, and swung the ax to strike the Ring bang in the middle. There was a shockwave, and everyone collapsed in their chairs, and the dwarf was blasted away.

Emma noticed Frodo wincing and rubbing his forehead. Dark murmurs sounded across the shocked council, and Emma turned to see the Ring, intact, with the pitiful remains of that formidable ax scattered around the terrace.

Elrond tapped the arm of his chair impatiently.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft we here possess.The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.” He surveyed the people around him, eyebrows raised impressively.

The members of the council exchanged awkward glances, but no-one spoke. There was dead silence for a few moments, until the exasperated voice of Boromir sounded again.

“One does not simply walk into Mordor.” he stated, passing a hand over his furrowed brow. “The Black Gate is guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly.” he concluded, shaking his head and looking around for support.

Elrond looked somewhat amused. “That is why we are _not_ going to proceed with ten thousand men, Boromir, son of Denethor. What I had in mind was a rather smaller mission.”

Boromir raised an eyebrow. “You mean to send a single person?” Boromir clarified, disbelieving. Perhaps he thought no-one but himself was to be trusted with the Ring, Emma thought darkly. It would certainly be the opportunity for him to run away with it. Actually... An idea was beginning to form in her head.

“Have you heard nothing of what Lord Elrod has said?” Legolas asked angrily, standing up again. “The ring must be destroyed!”

“And I suppose you think you should be the one to do it?” asked Gimli sharply, grabbing another ax.

Legolas turned a contemptuous stare on the dwarf, but held back his furious companions. Emma’s face sank into her hands while Hook groaned and Snow buried her head in David’s chest. The level noise around them rose.

“I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!”

“And what if we fail, what then?”

“Never trust an elf!”

“What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?”

“You are all fools!”

“We will all be destroyed!”

Emma peeked through her fingers and noticed a small form detaching itself from her right. She turned her head and saw Frodo stand up (not that it made much of a difference) and walk into the melee.

“I will take it!” he cried, his voice drowned by the chaos around him. Emma’s heart sank, but her mind pricked its imaginary ears as she saw an opportunity to act upon her idea from earlier.

“I will take it!” Frodo shouted again, a little louder.

Emma saw Gandalf close his eyes in defeat, yet noted how he did not look surprised in the slightest. A realization hit her. Her task in Rivendell was suddenly clear to her.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor.” Frodo repeated, looking very small in the midst of all the onlookers. “Though... I do not know the way.” he added, somewhat sheepishly.

Gandalf sighed and placed a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder.

“I will help you bear this burden as long as it is yours to bear, Frodo Baggins.”

Aragorn rose and knelt in front of Frodo. “If by my life or death I can protect you, I will.” he said simply. “You have my sword.”

Emma glanced at Gandalf, seeking confirmation for her sudden hunch. If this truly was her task, she was going to go it the whole hog. The wizard smiled slightly and gave her the merest nod, his eyes glad and understanding. Emma took a deep breath, and stood up. She ignored Hook’s surprised squawk and her parents’ gasps.

“I will go with you.” she declared, placing a hand on Frodo’s shoulder. She turned to the rest of the council. “Many of you will wonder why I have decided to accompany Frodo. It is time you know the truth. My son was captured in the land we hail from. My companions and I have been searching for him for over two months.”

She smiled down at Frodo, who was looking confused and unsure. “Frodo is my friend as well as my companion. I will help him in this task as long as it his to complete, and thus make it mine as well.”

She knelt in front of him. “Frodo, I swear I will accompany you for as long as you need help, and with every last breath of my body defend you from whatever creatures Sauron may throw at you.” She winked at him and grinned. “And of course it’s the perfect opportunity to look for Henry.” she finished cheekily.

Frodo smiled.

Emma spoke again, this time facing her companions. She looked at them apologetically. “I have made my oath, although I cannot speak for the rest of my companions. It is for them to decide if they will come as well.”

Emma surveyed her shocked companions, and her gaze landed on her mother. Snow had been the only one to stand up to Emma’s decisions as they travelled across Middle-Earth. Now, Emma was done deciding for others. This was a decision she had the right to make for no-one but herself.

To her surprise, Mary-Margaret smiled, and so did David. They stood up, and walked hand in hand towards Frodo.

“We learned not a long time ago that family stays with you forever.” Snow said quietly, smiling. “We’d only just found ours, and it was ripped apart again. In the name of all the families in Middle-Earth, who no matter what love each other as we do ours, I pledge my oath to you. I swear to help you in this quest, Frodo.”

David, put an arm around her shoulder. “As do I.” he confirmed sincerely. “As a knight, I swore to safeguard the helpless and defend my family. As I understand it, this quest fully qualifies for my membership.” he finished with a grin.

Her parents rose and walked towards Emma. Her mother smiled and took her hand. “You did the right thing.” she whispered. “I am so proud of you.”

Emma had expected anything but that. Her throat constricted and she couldn’t speak, so she nodded. She thought of Henry and the crucial information she was keeping from her family. Guilt threatened to overwhelm her. Emma’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Snow squeezed her hand, misunderstanding her daughter’s emotions.

Meanwhile, Regina had risen and crouched in front of the increasingly awed hobbit.

“I wasn’t an especially good mother to my son.” she admitted. “But you remind me of him, Frodo, and if I can help or protect you I will do so gladly. I just hope I get to do the same for Henry, too.” she finished sadly.

Hook ambled forward as well. “Well, little mate,” he started cheerfully, “seems to me you’ve got quite the entourage, and I think I might join you. Besides, someone needs to protect all of you lot.” He winked and smirked at Emma, who rolled her eyes.

Gold advanced as well. “Frodo Baggins, it appears you are going up against a force of great evil. I claim to have some experience in that matter,” (His companions rolled their eyes or glared daggers at him) “and if my aid can come in useful, I will give it.”

He knelt in front of the hobbit. “You have my powers.” he said quietly, sounding like his old pawnbroker-self.

“And you have my bow.” Legolas volunteered.

“And my ax.” Gimli growled. Emma smirked slightly at the clearly delighted expression on Legolas’ face. Too bad, blondie, she thought.

That was then she seriously regretted her thoughts. Boromir came forward as well, an expression of concern on his face which Emma was quite positive was fake.

“You carry the fates of us all, little one.” he remarked. “If it is the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.”

He knelt and pledged his oath.

“OI!”

Everybody turned and witnessed three hairy cannonballs shooting out of the various shrubbery items around them. Sam Gamgee and Frodo’s cousins planted themselves around him.

“Mister Frodo isn’t goin’ nowhere without me.” Sam declared stubbornly, crossing his arms to prove his point.

“And we’re coming to.” stated Merry, as Pippin nodded fervently.

“Anyway,” the latter reasoned, “you need people of intelligence on this mission... quest...Thing!” he finished triumphantly.

Even the elves had to hide their sniggers as his cousin nudged him and muttered “Well that rules you out, Pip.”

Elrond was the only one who looked remotely annoyed, although anyone could see he was amused as well. “No, indeed it is hardly possible to separate you, even when Frodo is summoned to a secret council and you are not.”

“A secret what?”

“Shut up, Pip.”

“So be it.” Elrond proclaimed loudly. “You shall be the Fellowship of The Ring.”

Everyone smiled.

“Jolly good.” said Hook. “So where are we going?”


	9. Fellowship?...Really?

The following morning, Emma woke up with a groan. The events from yesterday afternoon flooded back to her memory. Well, this was it, apparently. Another bloody task to complete. Didn’t anyone think it was strange that it seemed to be her sole purpose in life?

Emma threw back the sheets of her bedding and stumbled to her feet. She hated to admit it, but her recovery - despite her protests - was not yet complete. She still sometimes felt the need to stop and clutch a wall for support. So far, she’d managed to hide it from her companions, but she hoped the lingering effects of her injuries would fade quickly, seeing as the newly formed fellowship would depart in two weeks’ time.

She stretched gingerly, feeling the familiar - though thankfully dull - slightly numb ache in her arms, which had persisted despite the disappearance of the bruises. Emma made her way slowly towards the bathtub behind the screen, still sleepy and sensible enough to acknowledge the effects it could have on her balance.

She clutched the screen as she reached it, cursing herself for her weakness.

“Would you like any assistance, my lady?” asked a soft voice.

Emma whirled around, stumbled and nearly fell. An elf maiden - Emma simply could not give her an age - was standing in the doorway with clothing Emma recognised as her own draped over her arm. Her features were impossibly beautiful, like the rest of her kin. The elf gave her a soft smile of understanding.

Despite this, Emma shook her head. “No thanks.” she said as lightly as she could. “Doing fine, here.”

The elf bowed her head. “As you will, my lady.” she replied demurely.

“Emma.” the latter corrected, still highly uncomfortable at being addressed to as a lady.

The elf bowed her head. “Lady Emma.” she amended. “My name is Enelya. I will be here to assist you in any way you deem necessary.”

“Er, thanks...” Emma said awkwardly. “That’s really kind of you, but I really don’t need anyone to - er - assist me.”

The rather calm Enelya gave her a surprisingly mischievous smile. “I can assure you, my lady: you will need assistance to dress. I’m afraid the clothes we wear are different in the extreme to the ones you and your companions seem to prefer.”

Emma shrugged. “Er... Well, I’m planning on wearing my own clothes today.”

Enelya grinned. Her eyes sparkled. She was obviously hiding something. Emma frowned.

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

Enelya bit her lip, suppressing another smile. “Lord Elrond has arranged for the entire fellowship to share a morning meal. He says it will ‘aid comradeship and encourage relations.’ ” she quoted. The smile suddenly appeared again. “It would seem Lord Elrond also requests that you and your companions wear the clothes my people have given you. As long as it is no inconvenience, of course.” she added hurriedly.

Emma grimaced. “OK, not that I mind eating with the hobbits and my friends and all, but the others... Really? Will that man be there, the big one with the trumpet on his hip?”

Enelya laughed. It was like spring water running in a particularly merry stream. “Lord Boromir? Yes, I believe so. Though if I may be so bold, I can understand my lady’s reaction.” she added with a conspiratorial smile. Emma was starting to like this girl. She obviously had more of a sense of fun than her fussy, overprotective healers.

“Said the same sort of things to you guys too, did he?”

Enelya laughed again, evidently having caught Emma’s meaning despite her relatively foreign speech manner.

Emma drew a bath and gingerly climbed in, while Enelya busied herself around her room, straightening the bedding and laying out Emma’s clothes.

Emma scrubbed herself clean in the tube. She used lavish amounts of the floral, scented soap the elves had provided her, knowing she would probably not get any chance of bathing or even washing once they were in the wild. The hot water relaxed her weakened muscles, and the steam rose in spirals around her. Emma washed her hair again, despite having done so a couple of days ago - she reveled in the luxury of a warm bath while she could.

Once the water had begun to cool, Emma stood up and wrapped a towel around herself. She hesitantly clambered over the edge of the tub. Unfortunately for her, the hot water had also loosened her limbs enough to send her sprawling to the floor. She landed with a grunt and a wince of pain, and groaned once she realized she was probably too weak to get up by herself again. It was strange: she hadn’t had issues nearly so bad only yesterday. Then again, Lord Elrond had warned her that some symptoms would possibly take weeks to completely disappear.

Emma heard Enelya pause. The elf approached quietly and called from the other side of the screen.

“Lady Emma? Can I be of any assistance?”

“We’ve been through this before.” Emma said through gritted teeth, though she forced her voice to sound as carefree as possible. “Just Emma. Else I might just start calling you Lady Enelya. See how awkward that feels. And no, I don’t need help, thank you very much.”

Uh-oh, she hadn’t meant to say quite that much, nor that harshly. The pain, suddenly fiercely present again, was messing with her mind.

The elf remained silent for a moment.

“Emma, there is no shame in accepting help when it is needed.” Enelya said quietly.

Emma swallowed, both her pride and in an attempt to humidify her dry mouth.

“Help,” she acknowledged grudgingly after a few more moments, “would be much appreciated.”

Enelya glided over and gently helped her to her bed once more.

“Thanks.” Emma muttered reluctantly.

“It is no problem.” Enelya replied easily. “And most certainly not a shame for me, so neither should it be for you.”

Emma glanced at her new acquaintance. The elf reminded her a little of Mary-Margaret, especially her soft tones and care-driven logic. She smiled a little in acknowledgment.

Together, they managed to get Emma dressed in a simple, pale blue dress that fitted closely to her body. The dress was evidently of elven make, and Emma was suddenly grateful she’d eaten only a bit of dried meat and fruit in the last few days, for her figure was greatly revealed in this new outfit. The dress itself was quite beautiful, and Emma suddenly found herself twirling around slowly, admiring the the floaty folds fanning out.

Enelya took her leave after offering to guide Emma to the hall where she would be meeting the new fellowship, which Emma declined politely. She stubbornly still refused to be perceived as weak, whether that meant getting lost or not.

With that in mind, Emma wandered around the beautiful corridors until she finally found the hall in question. It was large, airy, and as elegant as the rest of the the Last Homely House - but it was nearly empty. Only a long table, laden with fruit, bread and various beverages, stood in the center of it. Emma noticed that Strider - well, Aragorn now - was already seated, drinking from a cup. Also present were Frodo and Sam, Gold, and the blond elf who had defended Aragorn the day before. Emma thought she remembered his name to be Legolas.

She walked over to her companions and took a seat next to Frodo and Sam, who greeted her with friendly smiles. Gold nodded at her, while Aragorn bowed his head politely. Legolas made a similar gesture, and, to Emma’s surprise, smiled at her. She returned it awkwardly, suddenly thankful for the entrance of her parents, who took seats beside her. Snow inquired quietly after her health, and Emma shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to let anyone know of her embarrassing spells of dizziness or weakness.

Aragorn was talking quietly with Legolas, while Gold just stared moodily at his plate. His new outfit as Rumplestiltskin seemed odd in the morning light, even slightly ridiculous. His brooding face stayed identical to the one Emma had come to know quite well over the past two years, leaving the impression he had simply donned a costume.

A few quiet conversations had now begun around the table, although none were actually very inclusive: each was between a pair, and communication between all seated persons was sparse.

Eventually, Regina, Hook , Lord High-and-Mighty and the red-haired dwarf (Emma strained her memory to remember his name, but couldn’t quite manage it) made their way in at different intervals. Regina too had donned an elven dress, but hers was a very dark red. She looked quite regal, and even Snow looked like the princess she was in a similar white outfit. Hook alone still wore the attire he had sported all throughout their adventure so far. Emma wrinkled her nose a little at that. Didn’t the guy wash or change?

All members of the fellowship picked at their food, except Emma, who was starving and ate three bread rolls in less than five minutes. The atmosphere became tense now that total silence had fallen. No greetings other than Hook’s wink at Emma had been exchanged, and the situation was now definitely awkward.

Suddenly, a commotion at one of the hall’s entrances made them all look up. Gandalf was scolding two very sleepy-looking Merry and Pippin, prodding them inside with his staff.

“- most inappropriate prank one could imagine! Trust a Brandybuck and a Took. Fools, the lot of them!” Gandalf muttered, while the two sheepish hobbits sat in front of Frodo and Sam. Immediately spotting the food, they started pulling plates of bread and fruit towards them, sleep vanishing from their eyes instantly.

“What did you do?” Emma whispered, glancing at Gandalf, who was still muttering, as he seated himself at the head of the table.

Pippin shot her a slightly ashamed look, while Merry scowled at his cousin.

“It was your idea.” Merry mumbled crossly.

“You wanted to do it!” Pippin retorted in a whisper.

“Guys,” Emma intervened, interrupting Merry’s imminent and most likely indignant reply, “what happened?”

Merry scowled at his cousin once more and launched into a whispered tale of convincing a couple of elves that mixing ale and wine would create a hair-solution strong enough to keep their hair curly for the rest of their days. Apparently, said elves had admired the curls of all four hobbits, and expressed a desire to have some as well.

“Of course, Pippin then offered to make some stuff for them, and told them to soak their hair overnight for best effects.” Merry explained scathingly, stabbing his pear with a particularly sharp knife. “The elves, who _used_ to be blond, woke up this morning with their hair brown, completely frazzled, and very drunk, thanks to the spirit vapours.”

Pippin mumbled nonsensically and fidgeted with his apple.

Emma blinked several times, mouth slightly open in shock. In the corner of her eye, she caught the expression of Legolas. The elf looked positively horrified.

Unable to stop herself, Emma snorted. She started laughing uncontrollably, sinking her head into her arms on the table. Spasms of laughter raked her body, until she was so exhausted she could barely raise her head anymore. She did though, and shot a bemused grin at the two hobbit cousins, who were looking completely non-plussed at her reaction. Merry even had a spoon halfway up to his mouth.

Emma shook her head. “You guys,” she said fondly, still sniggering, “you would give most kids in our land a run for their money. How do you come up with those ideas?”

The hobbits shrugged, somewhat pleased that their prank hadn’t been wasted on strictly everybody. The other members of the fellowship merely shot them looks, many of them expressing various degrees of confusion. Boromir scowled at them particularly moodily.

“ ‘Tis sad a lady should lower herself to such a level.” he commented, contempt clear on his face. “In Gondor such unladylike behaviour goes highly criticized.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Well I guess we aren’t all as delightfully civil as you are.” she retorted, voice positively dripping with sarcasm.

Boromir’s face darkened. “I do not take such insolence from a woman -”

“Why? Are they all too disgusted to even speak to you? Or do they just not give a damn of what you think?”

The Gondorian flushed in anger. He clenched his fists and threw his knife down. “You go too far-”

“Apparently we need to reflect on your definition of ‘far’.” Emma interrupted coolly. “I am eight seats away from you. Surely my words as a mere woman can do nothing to ruffle the ego of one so mighty as my lord Boromir?”

The latter visibly bristled. His knuckles were white and his face now brick-red. To his credit, however, he said nothing. Emma held his gaze evenly. She did not notice the amused smiles of Aragorn and Legolas, though she did notice her mother squirming uncomfortably to her right.

When Boromir finally looked away, Emma saw Hook grin. “Pirate.” he mouthed at her. Emma flushed, and ducked her head.

A tense silence fell again on the fellowship, all merriment the hobbits had brought now vanished. A few minutes later, Snow spoke up, evidently trying to ease the tension.

“So,” she called loudly and cheerfully, “what kind of training are we going to undertake?”

Emma swallowed her mouthful of bread with difficulty. Training? Nobody had said anything about training, which is precisely what she said aloud.

Snow gave her a look which clearly said she’d expected her daughter to have understood beforehand.

“Well, we’re not going on a wild adventure in the wilderness without training in some way. We’ll most certainly need the skills of being able to defend ourselves.” she said, her tone making it clear this was obvious to anyone. Yeah, anyone who’d lived in woods full of bandits for years, which unsurprisingly was not Emma’s case. Usually she would have considered this a good thing, yet now she felt at a clear disadvantage.

“An excellent observation, my dear.” declared Gandalf, smiling approvingly. “The wilderness of Middle-Earth is indeed populated with many sinister creatures, and dangers far greater than would be found in the Shire.”

Emma gulped slightly.

“What do you suggest?” she asked her mother, carefully hiding her horror at having to train in front of all these embarrassingly good warriors.

Snow looked thoughtful. “Archery, for one.” she replied. “It’s always useful for hunting, and once you get sufficiently good at it, it’s just as lethal as swordplay.”

“I believe I can assist with that.” Legolas interjected unexpectedly. “I have many years of experience with a bow. It would be my pleasure to help any of you.”

Aragorn smiled slightly. “Wood-elves are renowned for their great skill at archery.” he commented mildly. “No one could have better training than with one of them.” He tilted his head towards his friend, who modestly looked down.

Emma couldn’t help but feel the comment was directed at her specifically.

“Er... Thanks.” she replied, somewhat surprised. “But I, er... I’ve never even held a bow before. I’ve fought with a sword before, though.” she added somewhat defensively, seeing Boromir’s slightly mockingly raised eyebrow.

Hook cleared his throat significantly at that. “I think I can help there, lass. I seem to recall you making a stand of your own quite efficiently.” he said. The smirk that went with it immediately made Emma suspect he would enjoy proving her otherwise.

Thankfully, David interjected before any other awkward offers could be made. “Thank you both, but I’m sure Emma doesn’t need that extent of help.” he asserted firmly. “Both Snow and I have much experience in the art of battle. We can help her train.”

Boromir raised the other eyebrow now. “It seems unlikely a woman should know any art of battle.” he remarked haughtily. “War is the business of men. Women should tend their homes.”

Emma rolled her eyes again, exchanging an exasperated look with Snow. They’d expected reactions akin to this. Middle-Earth was clearly a patriarchal world, and feminism had a long way to go yet. Thinking about it, Emma was surprised such protests hadn’t been made at the council itself, when the fellowship had been formed. Surely Boromir couldn’t have been the only one to scoff at the presence of women of a quest of such vital importance. Emma’s guess was that Elrond had privately interfered on their behalf, and Gandalf’s frown at Boromir made her suspect he probably had something to do with it, too.

“I can assure you, Boromir, son of Denethor, that these ladies are highly capable. More so, I believe, than many men in Gondor. I have seen their character, their abilities, and you may trust me when I say they are fit for this quest.” the wizard growled, his tone contrasting with the rather cordial phrasing of his words.

Boromir stared at Gandalf in open disbelief. His head jerked in what may have been an attempt at a conciliatory nod.

“I meant no offence, Mithrandir.” he muttered, picking up his goblet to avoid looking at anyone.

Emma smirked a little, and Snow smiled gratefully at Gandalf. But Regina’s gaze lingered on Boromir, her eyes ablaze with cold fury. Emma could practically feel the anger the queen emitted in waves around her. Emma suddenly remembered how Gold had taught his pupils to control magic: through hatred and bloodlust. She sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening that this didn’t prove to be true in Middle-Earth as well. Otherwise, Boromir might just find himself literally heartless and very much dead quite soon.

 

 

0o0o0o00o0o0

 

 _Thunk_.

Emma threw her head back and groaned as the thirtieth arrow lodged itself in the ground next to the tree she was aiming for. Someone had very obligingly drawn a large white circle on the bark, but not a single arrow she’d shot had yet penetrated the frustrating white line.

She flapped her arms back to her sides uselessly, looking exasperatedly at Snow, who was watching with patient amusement.

“I can’t do this.” she insisted. “I suck.”

“Archery is always hard at the beginning.” Snow reassured her. “Just keep your right arm reasonably loose and focus on your movements rather than the target.”

“What? Why? How am I supposed to hit the target if I’m not focusing on it?”

Snow patiently rearranged her daughter’s grip on the bow.

“You’re a beginner, and a woman.” she explained. “Your stance will be different to a man’s - you need to control your movements more because you move differently to a man.” She pushed down on Emma’s shoulders. “Try to relax. And don’t clench the bow like that. It’s not Boromir’s neck, it’s a hunting tool and a weapon. Use it as such.”

Emma eyed the beautiful object in her tense hands. The bow was undeniably magnificent. It was made of ash (not that Emma recognised it - Snow had told her) and was almost as tall as she was when unstrung. The string was of elven hair, something that made Emma distinctly uncomfortable, despite the fact that the elven bow-master had assured her it was the usual procedure. The hair glistened like spun silver, and the polished wood gleamed in the light of the morning sun. It was light, springy, easy enough for her to string, and according to the proud creator, had a very long range. Not that she’d know. Every single bloody arrow she’d shot had landed around the tree.

The habit doesn’t make the monk, Emma thought dryly, and apparently the bow doesn’t make the archer either. She wished it did though. Even Legolas had admitted the bow was probably as good as the ones used by his people.

Said elf was also watching her practice. This understandably made Emma internally squirm. Why couldn’t everyone just let her embarrass herself in private?

Sighing, she picked another arrow from the steadily-emptying quiver beside her and notched it, taking a deep breath. She squinted at the white circle, idly wondering if her mother would scold her should she dare to take a few steps forward (just to see if it would improve her pathetic performance).

“Both eyes open.” said a quiet voice. Emma jumped and whirled around. Legolas was standing about three feet away from her, observing her stance. Jeez, how fast did this guy move? Just a moment ago he’d been across the field!

Snow smiled a little too knowingly for Emma’s comfort, and motioned for her to carry on.

Even more nervous now, Emma did as she was told and drew back the bow, keeping both eyes open and her arm as loose as she could get it. Said arm started to tremble as she lingered in the ‘draw’ position too long. She finally let the arrow loose, and it successfully flew... Until it landed even farther from the tree as the others.

Emma turned around again, grimacing at her mother. Snow smiled a little wanly - No doubt she was starting to doubt if her skill had endured genetically.

Emma sighed and unstrung her bow. Her arms were weakening again. Since the disastrous ‘fellowship’ breakfast a week ago, she’d practiced every morning with Snow, shooting arrow after arrow. Even after the near-relentless training, her aim had not gotten any better whatsoever. And although her limbs had clearly regained strength, even their new-found energy had limits. Her elven healers already fussed enough as it was; Emma for once thought she’d take up their offer of taking frequent rests during her training. Especially since she wasn’t making any progress either, she thought, annoyed.

She handed her bow to Mary-Margaret with a mumbled excuse and walked away quickly, carefully avoiding eye-contact with anyone. If truth be told, she dreaded this afternoon. The healers, seeing her strengthen every day, had finally given her leave to start training with a sword, but Emma was far from looking forward to her lessons. Sure, they would be with David, but he preferred using heavy, medieval swords, as opposed to the rather lighter kind Hook used.

Actually, if she had as much skill(or rather lack thereof)with a blade as with a bow, her healers didn’t have to worry: she’d probably give up on her own regardless of their requests.

Emma was ascending the stairs to the corridor leading to her room when she heard a familiar voice calling her name. She turned, and saw Hook ambling towards her with a look of intense purpose about him. She crossed her arms, ready for a surge of teasing mockery on her disastrous archery performance. She was surprised when he breached the subject of sword-training.

"Swan you need to prepare yourself for the perils we will face soon."

"Yes, so I’ve heard.” She said flatly. She thought she knew what he was going to say next. She was right.

“Swan, I could help-”

Emma stopped him with a single finger raised.

“Uh-uh.” she interrupted. “Nope. Not now. I’ve just been through two hours of frankly awful shooting. Do not expect me to jump up with a blade in hand, ready for battle.”

With that, she turned and walked away, aware her retort had been pretty weak, but honestly could not be bothered to care right then.

"You're a lousy swordsman, Swan." his voice bellowed after her.

She stopped, taking a moment to process his words. She turned around slowly, annoyance running through her body very fast indeed.

"Your footwork needs improvement, your grip is appalling, and—"

"And I beat you. I kicked your ass and knocked you out cold."

Seeing he had her attention again he smiled thinly, coming towards her again, his stride confident and full of purpose. "No darling, I let you win."

"Poppycock." She scoffed.

If she was honest though, his claim struck a chord with her, and whether it was because she sensed the truth in his words, or disliked the implication that anyone let her do anything, her irritation flared. Letting out a humorless laugh, she put her hands on her hips, watching as he took a few more steps before stopping in front of her. He lifted his sword meaningfully, the silver metal reflecting sunlight enough to remind anyone of just how sharp it was.

"Is this some ego thing? You want to go again so that you can prove you didn't get beaten by a girl, Captain." She started to walk away again, narrowing her eyes when he stepped in front of her, blocking her way. "Get out of my way." she ordered through gritted teeth.

The smile he shot her was cruel, the devastating pirate-like grin taking her by surprise. "Darling, you can walk away all you like, it won’t change the fact that you still need a hell of a lot of work to get up to scratch."

Emma scowled at him, but refused to rise to the bait. Part of her knew he was right, but the last thing she wanted right now was to train with a pirate dropping innuendos every five minutes. She tried to shove past him, but he simply moved to block her still.

"Move!" She practically shouted at him, her cheeks starting to flame and anger coursing through her veins.

"From what I've gathered you don't know how to use your bloody magic properly either.” Hook said, his eyes cold and his tone contemptuous. “If we're to go up against all these dark creatures, you need to be better prepared. You will practice Swan. You won't put the rest of us at risk because you are bloody stubborn and reckless. So help me I will—"

"Will what?" her answering laugh was nearly hysterical as she stepped closer to him, pleased when a wary look crossed his dark features. "I don't owe you a thing, I don't owe anyone on this quest a goddamned thing. Do you understand? Nothing!" She shoved him hard and suddenly, a vibrant wave pulsed out of her hands, effectively sending him crashing into the wall five feet from them.

Emma’s jaw dropped and stared down at her hands; she recognised the shockwave: it was the same sort Gold and Regina could cast on a whim. More than that, she recognised the feeling: it was magic. She raised her eyes to look at the pirate again, shock written across her features.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered. “That was totally unexpected. I didn’t mean... It was... I had no control-”

Hook was staring at her from the floor, pain clearly dazing his eyes. He winced as he brought a hand up to his head, withdrawing it with blood smeared on his palm. Emma gasped.

The pirate stared at her, clearly jut as shocked as she was.

“You’re angry.” he observed, rather calmly for someone who probably had brain trauma by now.

Emma took a deep shuddering breath.

"I'm a lot of things right now Hook. Angry is only one of them." She knelt down next to him. “Extremely sorry is another.” she muttered.

Hook smiled wanly. “No worries, darling. Seems you clearly beat me, this time.”

Emma looked surprised now in addition to worried. “You’re... not upset I just used magic on you?” she clarified, disbelieving.

Hook shook his head, then winced as pain lanced through him. “That was pure power Swan. It just proved me wrong. You can clearly defend yourself, lass.”

“But... It was dark magic.” Emma insisted. “I did it because I was so angry - it was fuelled by fury. I clearly had no control over it.”

Hook considered that, but nodded in acknowledgment. “That’s normal, Swan. I provoked you - for which I certainly do not apologize: you still need to train - but aye, in time, you’ll learn to control it.”

Emma smiled in relief, still feeling guilt clench her stomach. “How do you know so much about magic?” she asked, curious. “I thought you gave it a wide berth ever since - well, you know...” she trailed off uncomfortably. Why did she have to bring Milah up, now of all times? She’d hurt him enough for one day.

Hook rolled his eyes. “I’m a pirate, lass. I’ve travelled to many realms and encountered many magicians. I mostly sought them out to find a way to kill Rumplestiltskin, but after a couple of centuries one picks up a few things about magic.”

Emma nodded. That made sense. She watched Hook sit up straight, and helped him struggle to his feet. She still felt guilty about throwing him into a wall, and could now see the big, bloody lump on the back of his head.

“That looks nasty.” she winced apologetically.

The pirate shrugged. “ ‘S not that bad, lass.” He wobbled a little, and Emma steadied him. She peered into is eyes worriedly.

“You might have concussion.” she realized. “You’ll be dizzy for a while, and maybe feel sick depending on bad it is.”

Hook waved her concerns away. “Rubbish. I’ll be fine. I’ve had much worse. Quit worrying, Swan.”

Emma grinned. “So it is some ego thing!” she concluded triumphantly. “You still don’t want to admit you’ve been beaten by a girl!”

“I just did, didn’t I?”

Emma crossed her arms. “And if I was to run to everyone here and tell them that, you wouldn’t stop me?”

Hook hesitated. Emma laughed and punched him on the arm. “Don’t worry.” she said, still grinning. “I won’t.” The pirate looked relieved.

“On one condition.”

He looked wary again.

“I don’t train with a blade. Especially not now, nor today.” she continued.

Hook sighed. “Lass, you have to train-”

Stepping back from him, she reached behind her and pulled out her gun, which she’d concealed at her ankle. "I don't need a sword when I have—"

"That? Ah darling, how well did that precious weapon suit you in the Enchanted Forest, pray tell?" He didn’t wait for an answer, but waved her weapon away. "Keep it my dear. We may need it in a particularly desperate situation, but by no means will that be your weapon of choice."

He tapped the barrel of the metal firearm firmly.

"The moment you use that, it's blast will attract every native, beast, and enemy lurking in the shadows - like a beacon, betraying our location and presence with no qualms whatsoever. The moment you use that you'll draw unwanted and unnecessary attention. The moment you use that darling, you risk everyone's life... And maybe ultimately your son's. Put it away."

She faltered a little. His voice had taken on a commanding tone she had no doubt he’d used most of his life as captain of a pirate ship. And she hated him at that moment. Hated him with a violent passion for his smug and superior tone, hated him for the idiotic choices he had made, hated him for bringing Henry into the conversation

But most of all she hated him because he was right.

Staring down at her gun, Emma considered it hard. She remembered how it had alerted the ogres of their presence in the Enchanted Forest, nearly killing her and her companions in the process. Gritting her teeth, she lodged it back against her ankle.

"I'll go find David."

"Ah, yes. The prince."

"He's just as good if not better with a sword."

Hook clutched his chest in mock horror. “Lass, you wound me.”

Emma rolled her eyes and shrugged. “He fights with a medieval sword, Hook. You fight with one of those lighter ones.” She paused, and tilted her head, reflecting. “You know, in our world they correspond to different era’s entirely.” she explained. “The big heavy ones David uses are around a thousand years old in terms of their use by humans. The kind you use are only about five hundred years old.”

Hook raised an eyebrow. “What has that got to do with your training?”

Emma moved slightly to the left.

“Absolutely nothing!” she chirruped, dodging past him suddenly and running as fast as she could. “Just needed to distract you a little!” she yelled back at him.

He was staring after her, dumbfounded. Emma grinned and waved, before sprinting off to her room for a well-deserved rest.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0

 

“Ready? Three! Five! One! Four! Two! Six!”

“ _Ow_!”

Emma dropped her sword, flapping her hand as pain lanced through her bruised fingers, and glared at David.

“Sorry.” he said, not sounding sorry at all, and grinning when Emma scowled at him. “Come on, it was just a little tap!”

“It was the fifth!” she mumbled, trying not to sound too affected, but determined to get her point across. “By tomorrow, I won’t have any fingers left!”

“That’s certainly true. But that’ll be because you accidentally cut them off with your own blade, not because of me. Which is why we’re carrying on. You need to improve.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.” she scoffed. “We’re not leaving tomorrow, and I hardly think we’ll need our swords as soon as we leave this valley. Most likely we’ll need them as walking sticks the way Gandalf’s talking.”

“Count that as a good thing, because you won’t be saving yourself with that low stance and loose grip.” David retorted, sighing.

Grumbling, Emma took her ‘ready’ position once more, determinedly not wincing as her fingers curled painfully around the hilt of her sword. It was the weapon Strider had given her at Amon-Súl, and the elves had kindly sharpened for her. It was now quite shiny, and razor-sharp. Yet like with the bow, Emma soon found that it didn’t just take a good weapon to be a good warrior.

David called his sequence of numbers again, to which Emma was supposed to respond with the corresponding movements. According to him, Hook and Aragorn (who had been interested in seeing her train), she would have to get these movements to be automatic before she could even start proper sparring.

It didn’t help that said men were leaning on the fence, next to the space Emma and David were practicing. Well, Emma was practicing - but she had a nasty feeling David was feeling like a babysitter more than a coach.

She awkwardly stumbled though the separate moves. She got them all correct, but her balance was wobbly at best, and her arms were trembling from the weight of the sword.

“Move your feet.” Aragorn called.

“Yeah, I was planning on doing that while David wasn’t busy trying to kill me!”

David grinned. “Kill my own daughter? Emma you must be more tired than I thought. Just be thankful you’re not training with Boromir - he’d probably have no qualms running you through, after all you said last week.” he joked. Secretly, he had been rather proud of his little girl biting the Gondorian’s head off - Big girl indeed.

“The git deserved it.” Emma muttered. “Patronizing, masochistic, vain, arrogant prat that he is.”

Hook smirked but had to hide it. “He’s still better than you with a sword, lass.” he pointed out. “If I were you I’d learn to use a blade properly before I run to go and mouth off at him again.”

Emma scowled at him. She was tired, her arms were trembling even when the sword was down, sweat was trickling down her body, and the constant watching of the three men made her much more irritated than she should have been.

“When I learn how to use a blade properly, Hook, you’ll be the first to be on the end of it.” she threatened, too tired to realize the ambiguous meaning of her words.

Hook got it though. He grinned his pirate grin.

“I look forward to it.”

By then, Aragorn was looking downright shocked. Not only had he just witnessed a thirty-year old man calling a woman in her late twenties his daughter, he was now the reluctant spectator of an other-worldly flirting match (albeit it was one-sided). He shook his head. He’d known from the beginning that these companions on the fellowship would make the quest certainly an interesting one, but now had a feeling he would get more than what he’d bargained for.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0

 

Emma clambered out of her bath, pulled on the nightgown the elves had kindly lent her, and downright collapsed on her soft bed.

She was exhausted. David had kept her training for another hour after Aragorn and Hook had left, and she had bruises all over her body to prove it. Those weren’t actually David’s fault: most of them had bloomed when she couldn’t stop the momentum of her weapon and it ended up hitting her limbs, hard.

Emma relished the feeling of the smooth sheets and comfortable bed molding her aching body, although she already dreaded what the next day would bring. David had promised to spend the whole afternoon (as opposed to a couple of hours) training with her tomorrow.

Emma groaned at the thought and rolled over in bed, shutting her eyes and wishing with all her might for the sweet oblivion of sleep. But fate would have her own way.

An image of Henry swam into her mind. He looked like he had that day in Storybrooke. Happy, confident, and smart, until Greg and Tamara had kidnapped him. All of a sudden, Emma realized she nearly hadn’t thought of Henry today. While she’d been puffing and panting in training to help her look for her son, Henry himself had been quite far from her thoughts.

Hot, bubbling guilt washed over her. Was this it? Was this when she started to forget about her own child because of the distractions of life?

Regina had been right: they were spending too much time in leisure. They were here to find Henry, not help Frodo.

Ah, said the nasty little voice she had become quite familiar with lately, but they don’t know that helping Frodo is possibly the only way to save Henry – the only way to get even close to Saruman.

Doubt and regret gnawed at Emma’s mind. Had she been right to conceal the truth from her companions? No, of course not. Truth was always better. She’d learned that so many times: when she lied to Henry about his father; when Neal had lied to her about leaving with the watches; when David Nolan had caused so much misery by lying about his relationships.

She knew, now, of course, that Neal hadn’t lied. But it had felt like he had for years, and the betrayal had still happened.

Why then, didn’t she simply tell her companions about Henry? Obviously they were now all leaving with the fellowship, so they would be looking for him anyway, but something still stopped Emma from telling her guilty secret. She knew, now, that she had kept it far too long from them: she knew they would be angry at her and feel betrayed. She was afraid she would not be forgiven.

For the first time since she had learned about her son’s plight, Emma acknowledged that she was afraid. Afraid for her son’s life, for her companions, for Frodo, afraid her friends would reject her when they found out she had lied all along.

But most of all she was afraid of the unknown.

She had no power here, over her fate, her actions, those whom she loved... At least she’d known for the past year that she was the supposed Saviour, she’d known what her general task was. Even the first year, back when she didn’t even believe, she’d had Henry with her every step of the way. His absence was like a bare wound, wide open and gaping, but refusing to heal. In some ways she hated it, because the sheer pain, especially in the middle of the night, like now, was almost too much. But in others she cherished it. She could remember every day she spent with her son, every walk, every ice-cream, even every hot chocolate at Granny’s.

But here in Middle-Earth, not only was Henry not with her, but he was in danger, and there was very little Emma could do about that. She was doing her best, training and planning for their quest, but Emma knew that their chances of actually finding Henry soon and hugging him again were presently very slim, and seemed about as far off as Storybrooke. And she wasn’t even sure they were going towards Saruman anyway....

Thoughts swirled, twisted and wormed into Emma’s increasingly alert mind. Tired as she was, and certainly cliché as it was, she simply could not go to sleep.

Huffing, she flopped back onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, faintly making out the twining patterns decorating the pillars around her room.

There was a soft knock on her door.

Emma lifted her head, surprised. It was quite late. Past midnight, at least. Who on earth would disturb her now? Emma’s thoughts immediately went to Hook, who’d taken the same liberty the day she’d woken up, and whom she’d tricked this very afternoon. She grimaced. She didn’t want to banter with the annoying pirate, nor indeed have anything to do with him in this state. Her body still ached and she had to summon her whole strength of both body and mind to find the motivation to get up and answer the door.

She’d opened the door with a scowl and a few, sharp, well-prepared words, when her mouth dropped open in surprise as she saw Regina standing awkwardly in front of her door.

“Regina?” she said, baffled. “I wasn’t expecting any sort of visit, least of all-” She stopped. She’d been about to say ‘least of all from you’, but it would come out catty and mean.

Regina gave a small shrug.

“I can assure you I don’t usually go visiting people in the middle of the night, Miss Swan.” The queen replied. “But I am now because there really is no other way of doing what I wanted.”

Emma crossed her arms, curious. What on earth would the queen want with her, especially in the middle of the night?

“Well?” she prompted.

Regina looked behind and around herself, slightly wary.

“Inside, maybe?”

Emma nodded and let her through. She was now positively befuddled. Oh, that was a good word, ‘befuddled’. She should use it more often.

Regina walked in quickly and sat in one of the chairs that remained after her parents’ visit, a week ago, when she’d woken up from her coma.

“Miss Swan, I wanted to have a private word with you. About your training.”

Emma stared, then groaned.

“What, you too?” she complained. “I already have half the fellowship following every one of my embarrassing moves when I train, are you gonna start nagging as well?”

Regina smiled her humourless half-smile.

“No. Unless of course you count magical coaching as ‘nagging’.” She answered, her face still impassive.

Emma was taken aback.

“Magic?” she repeated, still confused. “What.. As in, what you and Gold can do?”

The Queen nodded, her face telling Emma this was the precise moment where she would decide if she was worth training.

There weren’t exactly a thousand ways this could go.

“Okay.” Emma conceded weakly. “When do we start?”

It was Regina’s turn to look surprised.

“That’s it? No other questions?” she asked, slightly startled at Emma’s immediate agreement.

The latter shrugged. She had a lot of questions, like: Who am I training with? Is it hard? Where will I practice? Can the others know? Are my parents okay with this? Actually, probably not the last one; She was a grown woman, free to do as she wished.

The queen eyed her suspiciously.

“As to your question,” she continued, “how about now?”

What? Now? In the middle of the night? Jeez, training was taking all sorts of shapes and sizes today.

Emma hesitated. She was physically tired, mentally drained, and had no wishes to spend more time with Regina than she had to. But on the other hand, Regina was the next best thing to Gold (if she was honest, she preferred being tutored by Regina than the distinctly odd Rumplestiltskin), sleep was nowhere near, and they only had a week left before the fellowship’s departure. And if was being particularly honest tonight, she didn’t in the least want to appear weak by saying she was tired.

“Alright.” she conceded again. “Shall we stay in here?”

Regina was once again surprised by Emma’s lack of arguing, but nodded and rose from the chair.

“I think it best that we practice in the night-time, in your room, to preserve privacy as well as discretion,” she informed her new pupil, answering Emma’s mental questions. “The less the others know about your magic, the better. By keeping it a secret, not only do we keep our powers private, we also maintain the element of surprise for when the time to do battle comes.”

Emma nodded to show she understood, not trusting herself to speak. The prospect of practicing magic, here, now, and under the surveillance of the former Evil Queen unsettled her more than she could say.

Regina began by telling her the basic functions and mechanics of magic.

“It’s vital that you understand how magic works, or it won’t fully respond to you.” Regina explained. “It’s like trying to work a computer. You have to know how to use a mouse, and how to access different applications. To do that, you have to understand how they are all linked and how they can work together; like when you download files, which you then save, store, open, play, and make backups of.”

Emma nodded. She was pretty fluent in IT, since her job as a bail bondswoman demanded a surprising amount of breaking in accounts. She hadn’t in the least expected it to be useful when practicing magic though. Then again, she hadn’t expected to practice magic at all only ten minutes ago.

Once Regina had finished explaining the rudimentaries of magical theory, she steered Emma in front of a small table, on which she’d placed a small candle, a bowl of water, and a tree-leaf.

“I want you to close your eyes, and focus on what you’re seeing on this table.” Regina said clearly, arranging her new pupil to stand with her arms down by her side and her shoulders down. “I want you to find the magic inside you. Feel it as though it’s what you live for, then channel that energy through to those items. Do it to each of them in turn. I want you to light that candle, to make that water disappear, and to make that leaf float in the air. Start.”

Emma, taken aback at being asked to do magic so soon, stared in disbelief.

“What, now?” she asked.

“No, next week.” Regina snapped impatiently. “Yes, now. You need to have some degree of control over your powers before we leave, or you won’t be of use to anyone.”

Emma resented that last remark, and opened her mouth to say so, but Regina pressed her cheek to turn her face back to the objects again. Emma swallowed her retort, and glared dutifully at the three, innocent things in front of her.

Once she’d taken note of their shape, position and appearance, Emma closed her eyes and tried to reach at the back of her mind for the threads of power which were, despite recent events, still largely unfamiliar to her. Under Regina’s sharp scrutiny, the pressure was intense, and Emma felt the magic evade her as she forced herself to reach it.

She sighed, annoyed, her eyes still closed.

“What?” she heard Regina ask.

“I can’t connect with it” Emma mumbled, not sure if she was making sense. “I’m trying to reach the magic, but it’s... running away.”

“You’re thinking about it too much.” Regina explained curtly. “Don’t think. Feel.”

Emma sighed again and tried to clear her mind and get it to stay blank. This was extremely difficult. Thoughts of Henry, magic, Frodo, the Ring, her parents, Henry, sleep, elves, and Henry kept flitting through the forefront of her mind. When she finally managed to concentrate on the sole thought of magic, she let her whole being embrace the energy. She could feel the power being coaxed back within her reach again.

Mentally, Emma tried to grab those threads of magic, reaching for them and willing for them to wrap around her mind. The magic slowly crept through her, spreading like moisture through cloth. She could feel power trickling down her arms and gathering in her hands. Her mind was a hive of power by then. The magic filled her mind, which was, oddly, still clear. In fact, she felt better than she had in weeks, and her senses became more acute. Emma could hear Regina’s heartbeat clearly, could feel the breath she let out at every exhalation.

Emma remembered, distantly, what Gold had said. 'It’s about _emotion_.'

Right.

She could do emotion.

Emma threw her head back and let the pressing thoughts of her son flood her mind. She saw his face, heard his voice, his laugh, saw his smile. She felt her arm around his shoulders, she tasted the ice cream they’d so often shared. And most of all, she let her love for him invade her whole being. She coaxed and pulled her love for her child into every corner of her mind, stretching it through her limbs, torso, heart, and finally hands.

Absently, she felt heat gathering at her palms, and saw light through her closed eyelids. She heard Regina’s sharp gasp, and opened her eyes.

The candle was burning merrily, the water had disappeared entirely, and the leaf was gently twirling in the air, as though waiting for another order.

Purple light was glowing in her hands, pulsing in time with her heartbeat and fading as she let the pure energy fade from her system.

Emma stared as the leaf floated back onto the table and as the flame of the candle shrank a little. The candle carried on burning, and the leaf returned to its exact position prior to the experiment.

Emma let out a long breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She smiled, disbelieving, as she realized what she’d managed.

Laughing delightedly, she turned to face Regina, who was standing with her arms crossed and her lips pursed. The Queen looked like she’d swallowed a lemon, and her posture was as rigid as  plank.

“I did it!” Emma gasped, excited. “I actually did it! Boy, I prefer this kind of training to archery and sword-fighting. D’you think I can persuade David and Mary-Margaret to let me off tomorrow, so we can do this instead?”

Regina didn’t respond, but just looked at the items on the table. She eyed the bowl in particular, which looked quite dry. The queen shook her head, a strange expression on her severe features.

“What?” Emma asked, her excitement fading now. “Did I do it wrong?”

Regina shot her a surprisingly irritated look.

“Wrong?” she repeated. “You think you did it wrong? Miss Swan, you will recall I asked you to do the tasks each in turn. Instead, you did them all at once.”

Emma stared at Regina in confusion.

“Well... Yeah.” she replied hesitantly. “ I mean... I did them, right? Isn’t that all that counts?”

Regina shook her head again, slowly. Emma was confused. Had she done it completely wrong-?

“Miss Swan, that was incredible.” Regina said flatly. “You did three tasks at once; a feat even a moderately experienced sorcerer would struggle with. You did it in less than five seconds. You let the power escape gradually, and the objects remained exactly as they should be.”

Emma blinked.

“Then... What’s the problem?”

Regina turned around abruptly and threw her hands up in the air in an attitude of frustration Emma never seen on her.

“It’s just... All that potential!” The queen blurted. “Do you have any idea what you could do with that power, Miss Swan?” She asked, in a tone that clearly said that such magic was wasted on her.

Emma shrugged,

“Find Henry?” she suggested.

She was only half-joking, but Regina calmed down and fixed her with a sudden gleam in her eye.

“Yes...” she breathed. “No doubt your powers will be highly beneficial to us to find Henry. Perhaps even to help Frodo.”

Emma nodded doubtfully. She wasn’t sure her magic would be sophisticated enough to do the kind of cool spells Regina and Gold did by the time she would need it, but she did feel relieved at having some sort of advantage over their adversaries.

Emma was surprised Regina had included Frodo on her list of ‘people to help’. The queen had never expressed any fondness about the hobbit, and her oath to him a week earlier had taken her rather by surprise. She tilted her head slightly, considering the woman in front of her she’d changed so much - and all for Henry.

“You know, Henry will be so proud of you.” she informed Regina quietly. The queen looked up from the chair she’d sat in, taken aback at this rather unexpected change of subject. “He knows how hard you try. He loves you for that.”

Emma sat down in the chair opposite and squeezed Regina’s shoulder. The queen looked surprised at her touch, but smiled slightly.

“I just want to be a good mother to him.”

Emma snorted softly.

“Don’t we both.” she replied, smiling. “But you’ve changed a lot, Regina. I’m sure Henry knows that, and admires you for it. I know I do.”

Regina looked taken aback by this sudden show of solidarity and friendship.

“Thank you.” she replied quietly, not knowing what else to say.

Emma smiled. It would be enough for Henry, so it was enough for her too.

 

0o0o0o0o0o00o0

 

 

Emma scrambled down the stairs to meet her friends in the courtyard, tightening the belt around her waist. The elves - who had expressed more friendship and generosity than Emma would ever have thought possible - had made new outfits for all the Storybrooke strangers. Emma’s consisted of loose-ish green breeches (the elves had looked confused when she’d referred to them as ‘trousers’), a darker green shirt which felt very light but kept warmth well, new, slim leather boots, and a dark brown cloak. The cloak was Emma’s favourite: it was descended to her mid-calf, fastened at her neck with a swirly silver brooch, and was large enough to act as a blanket during chilly nights. Between her shirt and her cloak, Emma had on the coat she’d worn on her on the day they’d left to find Henry. It was rather the worse-for-wear now, but it felt like a small piece of home and Emma found she welcomed the protection from the dawn chill, even if her attire looked a little odd.

Emma strode towards her friends, who were gathered around the horse - Bill, if she remembered correctly - who was being loaded with packs and provisions.

Today was the big day: the Fellowship was leaving Rivendell to go on the Quest of the Ring. Emma had privately named it Operation Henry, and her friends had smiled at that when she’d let it slip a couple of days ago.

Snow was stroking the pony’s nose while David made a few more adjustments on the pony’s saddlebags. They too wore the outfits the elves had gifted them. It was strange to see them dressed so... medievally. Emma was used to her parents in jeans and t-shirts, not breeches, loose shirts and cloaks. And yet, she reasoned, this was more or less what they would had looked like in the Enchanted Forest, judging by what Emma had seen of the world’s fashion in her short time there.

Regina was there too, fidgeting with the dagger Elrond had presented her with. It was of elven-make, and quite beautiful. It almost made one forget what its true purpose was.

Emma smiled a greeting to all of them.

“Big day, huh?” she said brightly.

Snow glanced at her curiously. “Someone’s happy.” she commented.

Emma shrugged lightly. “Well, we’re finally gonna leave this place and do something to find Henry. That’s worth feeling good about, considering we haven’t budged for two weeks.”

Snow’s face was grim. “I suppose.” she replied. “But we have no idea where he is, and this won’t be any kind of vacation. It’s gonna be hard, fast and dangerous.”

David grinned and put an arm around his wife, while Emma kept her face impassive to hide her guilt.

“That’s what you like, isn’t it?” he teased. “Or do you like danger only when it includes a giant rampaging through a town?”

Mary-Margaret laughed and pulled him in for a long kiss. Emma grimaced at Regina, who rolled her eyes and looked away. There was something distinctly odd about watching your parents snogging, especially when they were the same age as you.

Gold came down the steps as well, carrying his pack on his shoulder. Emma noticed how much less painful it seemed to be for him to walk now. She felt guilty again as she remembered the endless miles they had trekked since their arrival in Middle-Earth.

He nodded in her direction. “Ah. Good day to you, Miss Swan.” he greeted her. Gold glanced around the rest of the courtyard, where Merry and Pippin - looking very sleepy indeed - were being ushered by Gandalf. Aragorn too made an appearance, although he seemed to be in deep conversation with Elrond.

“It seems we are short of a few members of our company. Notably the pirate.” He commented, a gleam in hs eye.

Emma winced a little. She knew for a fact that Hook had managed to find a stack of elvish wine - there was no rum in Middle-Earth, apparently - and had hidden in his room with it. Now, elvish wine was significantly more potent than regular wine. Emma wouldn’t be surprised if Hook was to wake up this morning with a good, thumping old headache.

Emma couldn’t bring herself to sympathize. The pirate had driven her harder than ever in her training the day before, and she had a whacking great bruise on her thingh as a souvenir.

She grinned at Gold.

“I’ll go wake him.” she volunteered, marching back into the Last Homely House and grabbing a pitcher of water on the way.

A minute later, all life forms in Rivendell were brutally woken by the ferocious cry of “SWAN!!!!!!!!”, followed by bright laughter and the sounds of a chase taking place.

Ten minutes later, a damp, pale, and thoroughly hungover Hook was grumbling to Bill the pony about infuriating women, and Emma was giggling to herself.

Another hour later, all fellowship companions were ready, and had gathered in the courtyard, set to leave. Elrond’s family and subjects were dotted around them, alone or in small groups, watching silently as the fifteen companions said their farewells.

Emma, Snow and Regina thanked Arwen profoundly for her kindness, for they had found out she had been the one to order so many new items for them to take. The beautiful elven princess laughed lightly in response, but Emma could see her eyes were sad, and her gaze kept straying towards the mysterious ranger she now knew to be the heir of a powerful kingdom.

Discretely, Emma glanced at Strider. The man also looked saddened, and Emma noticed the tender way he touched a sparkly gem at his throat as he inclined his head towards Arwen.

The Lady elf looked close to tears, but set her jaw defiantly and held her chin high. Emma saw this and respected her for it.

There’s one woman who can look after herself, she thought. Maybe she could teach Boromir to see that once in a while.

The Gondorian in question was currently scowling at Snow, who was showing the bow the elves had presented her with to Legolas, who politely looked it over and praised the workmanship. Emma noticed Boromir kept glancing at Frodo, no doubt constantly thinking about the Ring.

Emma was noticing a lot of things today. Maybe because she was doing much more watching than talking.

Elrond appeared at the top of the stairs to send them off formally. He reminded them of the purpose of their quest, and bade them all good luck.

“On those who chose to accompany Frodo,” he intoned gravely, his eyebrows once again raised impressively, “remember this: no oath, nor bond is laid to go any further than you will.”

Emma had to run that sentence a couple of times through her mind to make sure she’d gotten the meaning right. She frowned. Wasn’t the entire point that they had given their word to Frodo? To protect him?

She exchanged a confused glance with David, who shrugged a little and whispered: “It’s called politics. I’ll explain later.”

“Farewell. Hold your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and and all free folk go with you.” finished Elrond.

The fellowship thus departed from Rivendell, walking calmly out of the courtyard and onto the leaf-strewn path. Emma wondered how Frodo knew to turn left as they went.

 


	10. Dread Caradhras

Emma sank onto the ground with a sigh of relief, though making sure no-one heard her. Snow sat down next to her, looking as tired as her daughter. Emma had to remove her weapons before sitting down. It was strange the number of little things you didn’t notice in movies - like how the characters had to carefully maneuver their sword/bow/shield before sitting anywhere. As for Emma she preferred removing them entirely, enjoying the relief as she lifted the weight of her back.

The other members of the fellowship either sat down on the large white rocks or busied themselves with the fire. Sam pulled out pots and pans from his pack and got started making lunch. Emma idly wondered how he managed to carry so many - in her view - pointless items. Well, ‘pointless’. She had to admit she was extremely grateful to the hobbit when she’d tasted the bacon, sausage and tomatoes the frying pan had made possible.

Emma groaned quietly as she wriggled her feet in her boots. The shoes were admirably made (although quite muddy after a fortnight of hiking), but they didn’t stop her feet from aching.

The past two weeks had been very interesting - in the loosest sense of the term. Hiking for days on end with people with varying degrees of hostility to others made traveling very testing indeed. Emma and Boromir had had a couple more verbal sparring matches, witnessed by increasingly amused fellowship members, although the Gondorian himself became more sombre and harsh with each passing day.

Emma knew this, and for that reason had relaxed her stiffness around him. They now ignored each other as much as possible, which under the circumstances was actually very easy: Merry and Pippin had taken a shine to him and were constantly badgering him about one thing or another. These covered tales of his exploits, to his opinions on pipeweed, and to how to fight with a sword. The latter was precisely what the three were doing at the moment.

Emma accepted a plate from Sam with a bright smile, and turned to watch the training. It was going well, considering the hobbits were about as good with a sword as she was. Merry parried and dodged a few thrusts from Boromir, his small stature working to his advantage as he barely had to bend to avoid the blows.

“Take your stance again!” David shouted, drinking from a bag. Emma was sure it had a name, but she really couldn’t think of anything else to describe: it was a small, leather satchel... Thing. And it apparently contained water. She suspected, however, that Hook’s had some sort of alcohol in it, for her kept swigging at it in the evenings and carefully avoided having to share it with anyone.

It was Pippin’s turn to defend himself soon. He jerked his arm upwards, blocking the blows, but looking a little like he was standing on hedgehogs.

“You look good, Pippin!”

“Thanks!”

“Move your feet!” Aragorn advised.

“Spoilsport.” Emma muttered with a smile. The ranger heard her - the acuteness of his senses seriously bothered Emma sometimes - and smirked.

Suddenly, Pippin yelped and dropped his sword, flapping his hand.

“Sorry!” Boromir shouted before the two little hobbits pounced on him and pummeled him to the ground.

“Get him!”

“For the Shire!”

“Ow!”

“You’ve got my arm- you’ve got my arm!!!”

“Help!”

Emma fell about laughing, while Snow snickered at her food. Aragorn got to his feet and walked over. “Gentlemen, that is enough-” he admonished them, before the hobbits promptly pulled his legs from under him.

Regina grinned a little while the four men wrestled on the ground. Emma was slapping the rock with her fist now, tears running from her eyes. Gold smiled at the antics of their companions, but joined Gandalf on the outcrop of their camp. He spoke to him quietly, and Gimli joined their conversation, looking disgruntled about something.

Emma saw a green and gold flash out of the corner and noticed Legolas leaping up on a boulder, looking into the distance. Emma frowned. Why did elves have everything? She’d learned a few days ago that they were immortal as well. Honestly, how much luckier could they get? Their beauty, immortality, grace, fighting skills (her most recent training sessions made her particularly envious of those) and their ability to make absolutely anything look natural had caused Emma and her mother to mutter a few mock-jealous comments during their journeys.

“What’s that?” someone called.

Emma and Snow looked up, squinting at the sky as they saw David point at the clouds. A strange black haze was making their way toward them.

“Nothing - just a wisp of cloud.” Gimli grunted.

Emma made a doubtful noise. The shape was clearly black, and the clouds around it were grey at best.

“It’s moving against the wind.” Boromir realized.

Emma frowned. Not good.

“Crebain! From Dunland!” Legolas cried, pouncing off the rock like a gazelle. No doubt he’d have objected to that simile had he heard it, but it was really the only one appropriate.

“Hide!”

All Hell broke loose. The members of the fellowship scrambled to their feet and ducked under rocks, bushes, cloaks, and even Bill the pony. Emma cursed and cast aside her plate, dropping down to the ground but tripping on a root. Someone grabbed her belt and wrenched her back. She landed on her behind with a gasp, the breath cut out of her. Her abductor dragged her under a protruding ledge and held her fast.

Still gasping, Emma wriggled around and saw that her supposed ‘saviour’ was, in fact, Hook. The pirate put a finger to his lips and pointed at the sky. Emma looked up through the small space and saw the cloudy sky suddenly darken with flitting black specks. The harsh sounds of cawing filled the air, and Emma clutched her ears, wincing.

After a few moments, the birds fled, presumably either to carry on or to return from whence they had come. Emma suspected the latter - something about those birds was unnatural. Gandalf confirmed her fears.

“Spies of Saruman!” he snarled, emerging from his hiding-place. “The passage South is being watched.”

“Spies?” Regina repeated doubtfully. “They were birds!”

Gold sighed and dusted his doublet. “This is why we concentrated on magic during your lessons, dearie.” he commented dryly. “You showed a distinct lack of talent with magical creatures, and apparently you haven’t improved.” He squinted after the strange crows. “Those ‘birds’ clearly had a purpose.” he mused. “No doubt they are returning to their master.”

“Where do you suggest we go, then?” inquired Snow, brushing the dust from her clothes and looking at Gandalf.

The wizard sighed deeply and leaned on his staff.

“We must take the pass of Caradhras.” he answered grimly, turning to look at the worryingly huge, snowy mountain peak behind them.

Emma gulped. Suddenly, crow-spies didn’t sound so bad after all.

 

0o0o0o0o0o

 

Emma wrenched her leg free from the snow once again, determinedly ploughing on, but feeling the numb gradually spread through her limbs, and the ache in her feet was the only feeling she was aware of.

She stumbled a little and almost fell, but David caught her just in time. She thanked him with a tired smile. She was exhausted, and so was he. The others looked little better. The hobbits were faring the worst: their bare feet made them more vulnerable to the cold, and their small forms meant they struggled with the snow more than the others. The only one who looked unaffected was Legolas, who pranced around and bounded as though he was in a forest instead of on a two-feet deep, snowy mountainside.

Emma gritted her teeth. Apparently, elves weren’t bothered by extreme temperatures either. She felt like punching something, if only she had enough strength.

Frodo struggled in front of her, so she prodded him gently and helped him up a few feet. The hobbit looked at her gratefully, but didn’t speak. He was probably saving his breath for, well... Breathing. There wasn’t much of that you could do on this bloody mountain. The air was so thin that a few steps in the deep snow felt as tiring as a whole mile.

Emma patted his shoulder in encouragement. She watched as he carried on, slightly worried. There had been (what had seemed like) a minor incident earlier. Frodo had slipped and fallen down a few feet, only to be caught by Aragorn. But the Ring had slipped off the elven chain Elrond had given Frodo, and - predictably - Boromir had picked up, seemingly entranced by the trinket.

Aragorn had dealt with him admirably, but Emma had seen him tense and reach for his sword. Grimly, she glanced back at the Gondorian. Despite his unpleasant comments and frankly rude attitude at times, Emma had to admit he had stamina. Boromir was now carrying Pippin on his back, along with all his regular weapons and shield. Like the others, he looked more than a little tired, and his breathing came in short gasps.

As he caught up, Emma gave him a small smile of encouragement, then turned and carried on struggling up the mountain. She missed the surprised look that crossed his face.

That evening - well, afternoon - a massive and quite honestly terrifying snowstorm whipped up, reducing the fellowship to crawling along the edge of the mountain.

By this point, the hobbits simply could not go on. Boromir carried Merry, while David had Pippin on his back. Aragorn had Frodo in his arms, while Sam clutched onto Bill miserably. All four hobbits’ lips were blue, and their faces were as pale as could be.

The six from Storybrooke were in no better condition. Had the elves not given them good, thick cloaks, they would not have made it to that point. Snow clutched David’s arm, carefully maneuvering her husband and his charge through the blizzard. Emma was between Hook and Regina, teeth chattering and seriously wishing for a bit of warmth.

Legolas - curse him - stepped lightly around all his companions and carefully balanced his way to the front of the company, squinting into the blinding snow.

“There’s a fell voice on the air!” Emma heard him shout.

“It’s Saruman!” Gandalf yelled, raising his staff. He started hollering nonsense into the icy inferno before them. Emma definitely thought she could hear another voice drowning it out, but maybe it was the wind, whipping her frozen hair around her face.

There was a crack of lightning almost immediately followed by thunder, then snow, rock and ice started to tumble off the cliff they were edging around.

“Oh, wise move, Dumbledore.” Emma mumbled, pressing herself to the mountainside. Hook pulled her down, crouching into the snow, where they waited in fear for the avalanche to stop. Emma was so tired she closed her eyes, even though a little voice in her mind told her it was dangerous. She could feel the snow around her, like a white, fluffy blanket enfolding her. It reminded her a little of the baby blanket she’d kept all her life.

A couple of blissful, but cold, moments afterwards, Emma felt a hand tighten around her wrist and yank her upwards. She groaned, resisting the pull. She wanted to stay sitting down, she wanted to sleep... There was another pull, harder this time.

Emma sighed and pulled all her strength together, forcing her aching but strangely numb body to rise again, clutching at the sheer wall of rock beside her.

She straightened a little, snow falling from her head and shoulders. She spotted Hook, his face pale and purple shadows under his eyes. He still held her wrist tightly.

“All right, lass?” he shouted over the wind. “Don’t want to fall asleep, now. It could be the death of you.”

Emma nodded feebly, wanting to thank him for more-or-less saving her life, but not finding the strength nor the words to say so.

The other members of the company emerged from the snow as well, coughing and spluttering, looking even colder, if possible.

“We must get off the mountain!” Boromir shouted. “We must make for the Gap of Rohan to go to my city!”

Aragorn shook his head wildly. “The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!”

Emma pricked her frozen ears. Isengard? That was where that Saruman dude was keeping Henry, right?

“But what if it’s the fastest way?” she argued. “It’s worth a try!”

Gimli kicked a block of ice off his chest.

“If we cannot go over the mountain, let us go under it.” he suggested loudly. “Gandalf! We must go through through Moria.”

Gandalf’s gaze turned on the dwarf who was starting to look like an ice-sculpture. Even through the wet snow that kept flying into her eyes, Emma could see the shadow that passed over his face. He stayed silent for a few seconds, while the hobbits shivered violently and the humans gritted their chattering teeth.

“Let the Ring-Bearer decide.” he said finally.

Frodo looked up, his gaze imploring the wizard not to entrust such a decision to him. But his companions’ eyes beseeched him to make a decision, and quickly at that.

Frodo held his chin high.

“We will go through the mines.” he declared.

Emma sighed in relief, but internally she felt a sharp twinge of disappointment.They had once again missed the opportunity to get closer to Henry.

 

0o0o0o0o00o0

 

After two days, two nights, and much slipping and sliding, the fellowship found itself tiredly marching along grey, dreary walls of rock.

Emma stumbled over a rock, grabbing onto a small ledge as she straightened herself. She surveyed the scene grimly. The way Gimli had been going on about Moria - mostly to keep everybody’s minds of the cold - she had expected something altogether... grander.

He was still banging on about his cousin’s home, actually, his thickly-accented voice surprisingly not echoing too much in the stone valley. Emma supposed the mist was the cause of that.

“- the halls of Durin, and the tapestries of my ancestors. Balin always had a favourite. It showed the entire Firebeard clan and their relatives from other dwarf kingdoms-”

Emma saw Legolas roll his eyes and she sniggered. Those two clearly hadn’t gotten over their grudge since the council. Well, she could talk. She hadn’t shouted at Boromir - or even talked to him much, actually - since their descent from Caradhras, but the tension between them was still palpable. If she was honest she thought it had lessened a bit since the council, though.

The company climbed over a ledge, and Emma heard Gimli gasp dramatically.

“The walls... Of Moria!” he breathed.

Emma cocked her head. They were just huge, ugly, stone walls to her.

“Nice.” she commented sarcastically.

Gimli nodded enthusiastically, his excited chatter starting again while his companions didn’t even bother to hide their expressions of annoyance or amusement - some wore both.

The dwarf then proceeded to tap the walls gently every few feet with the butt of his ax. He pressed his ear against the wall eagerly, blocking the path from the others. Emma grumbled nonsensically and pushed past him.

“Dwarf doors are invisible when closed.” he informed them, as though explaining his strange behaviour.

Emma snorted. “You guys sure must have a hard time finding them, then.”

“Yes Miss Swan, their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten.” Gandalf said from the front.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” muttered Emma and Legolas together. They exchanged a glance and Emma grinned, shaking her head.

Finally, once night had fallen and the stars had come out, the fellowship halted as Gandalf planted himself between two huge holly trees. The spot looked quite unremarkable, except perhaps for the two trees, which were the only vegetation they had seen for days. The lake beside it was large, murky, and as smooth as glass. Emma hated it the moment she set eyes on it.

“Ah.” Gandalf announced triumphantly. “Here we go.”

“Here we go what?” asked Pippin.

“The doors of Moria, Master Peregrin.” answered the wizard gruffly. “Invisible when closed, as established earlier.”

Pippin gaped at the sheer wall in front of them. Emma did the same.

“Bloody big door, then.” she mumbled.

Gandalf was brushing stuff off the rock, muttering under his breath. “Ah.” he said again. “Ithildin.”

“It’s sealed in?” Hook repeated, looking confused.

Gandalf shot the pirate a clearly unimpressed look. “Ithildin, Captain. Only reflects the light of the moon and stars.” He waved his staff slightly, and a cloud moved to reveal the bright orb in question.

This guy can control the weather? Emma thought crossly. Why didn’t he stop that frigging snowstorm two days ago, then?

She was distracted by the sudden glowing pattern on the wall. She gasped as the shape of an arch appeared, gracefully spreading across the space between the two holly trees.

Gold approached the door, a gleam in his eye. He traced a bright line with a finger.

“Remarkable.” he murmured. “The Dwarves truly are wonderful people.”

Gimli proudly puffed out his chest as much as his heavy armour allowed him to.

“So how do we get in?” asked Snow curiously as David placed an arm around her waist, awestruck.

“Simple.” Gandalf replied, shaking back his sleeves. “The writing reads ‘Speak, friend, and enter’. Clearly, one must speak the password, and the doors will open.”

The companions smiled gladly, and the hobbits exchanged excited looks. Their dread at entering the mines had all but disappeared.

Gandalf took a step back and raised his arms towards the glowing gate. He shouted out what sounded like gibberish to most of them present, but which was clearly meant to open the doors.

Nothing happened.

“Nothing happened.” Pippin stated.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Emma muttered. Pippin blushed and Hook looked offended.

Disgruntled, Gandalf shook his sleeves again and shouted at the doors once more, though this time different sounds came out.

Still nothing happened. Emma was ready to bet Pippin was about to say so again, but Gandalf harrumphed and tried a different password.

After two more tries, Emma decided to sit down on one of the rocks, as far away from the lake as possible. She was soon joined by Regina and her parents. The queen had kept mostly to herself during their journey, but her few training sessions with Emma had eased their relations somewhat. The two had often walked together in the wilderness; not talking, but united in their love for their son and their wish to retrieve him asap. Emma also knew Regina seriously mourned her powers. From what she’d gathered, the queen had had magic for nearly fifty years - no doubt it was a bit like suddenly being snatched away from a drug one had depended on for years.

The four sat silently. Emma and Regina were musing, while David and Snow cuddled, simply content to rest and be together. Over by the lake, Aragorn and Sam were relieving Bill the pony of his burden. Sam sadly patted his flank and pushed him away from the mines. Clearly the mines were no place for a pony. Bill trotted off, not looking back. Strangely, this made Emma sadder than ever.

Nearby, Merry and Pippin were competing over who could throw a stone furthest in the lake, creating unnaturally large ripples. Emma could have sworn some of them weren’t caused by the pebbles. Uneasy, she turned to Gandalf, who was still muttering at the gates of Moria. The wizard sighed deeply and threw his staff on the floor, sitting down and grumbling.

“It’s no use.” he heard him mutter. “I once knew every spell in the tongues of men, elves and orcs.”

“What are you going to do, then?” Pippin piped up, apparently not having learned his lesson.

“Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took!” the wizard replied testily. “And if that does not shatter them, we’ll try that cousin of yours if he continues to throw stones in that blasted lake. Evil lurks in these places, unseen. No need to wake it up.”

Chastised, Pippin nudged Merry, and they sat quietly on a rock, twiddling their thumbs.

Emma sighed and got up, walking over to the doors. The swirly script was illegible to her, but it certainly looked pretty. Too bad admiring it didn’t make it open, though.

“What kind of writing is that?” she asked.

“Elvish.” replied Legolas. “Once, long ago, the elves and the dwarves were relatively amicable. Many trades were established between the two races, and they even helped each other build their kingdoms.”

“ ‘Tis sad that alliance should have faded. And it wasn’t because of the dwarves.” Gimli growled.

“I had not heard it was the fault of the elves.” Legolas retorted snappishly.

“Oh, I’ve heard both.” Gandalf said casually, puffing out a smoke-ring.

Emma tilted her head to the side, thinking, their conversation quite lost on her. She tried to remember what Gandalf had said the words read. ‘Speak, friend, and enter’?

“Do the elves have the same word for ‘speak’, ‘say’, and ‘talk’?” she wondered aloud.

Gandalf glanced at her. “It depends on the context, I suppose.” he considered. “Why?”

Emma’s eyes didn’t leave the elvish script.

“What’s the Elvish word for ‘friend’?” she asked this time.

Gandalf pulled the pipe out of his mouth, lips slightly apart as he realized what she was talking about.

“Mellon.” he said slowly.

There was a groan, and the great stone doors suddenly moved to open up a small space, which grew larger and darker by the second.

Gandalf chuckled and picked up his staff and hat, entering the mines. The fellowship got to their feet and followed the wizard, David thumping his daughter on the back and Snow squeezing her arm. Gold sidled up to her.

“Impressive.” he said quietly, his murky eyes boring into hers. “I regret not having the time nor the equipment to tutor you, Miss Swan. You would make quite the pupil.”

Emma opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She shrugged noncommittally and advanced into the mines, suddenly uncomfortable. Had Regina told Gold about their private magic training? It was possible, but then again knowing the history between those two, maybe Regina was enjoying keeping something of that significance from her old master.

Emma’s thoughts were interrupted by the ghastly sight in front of her. The moonlight illuminated the entrance for a few feet, and her eyes quickly adapted to the gloom. She wished they hadn’t.

The entrance hall was littered with dry, rotting corpses, all of them with arrows, axes or swords impaled in their bodies. Emma felt a wave of nausea rush through her as she looked around the morbid scene. Gimli had, apparently, not yet noticed anything, and was still talking animatedly about dwarven feasts.

“These mines are the home of my cousin Balin. And to think they call it a mine. A mine!” he said loudly, chuckling.

“This isn’t a mine.” Boromir muttered. “This is a tomb.”

For once, Emma agreed with him.

Gimli stopped short and peered around him, his face aghast as he took in the sight of the mangled remains of his kin. He moaned in agony, running up to a corpse and kneeling.

“No.” he gasped. “Nooo!”

Boromir and Aragorn unsheathed their swords, ready for battle and glancing around furtively.

“We should never have come here.” Boromir spat. “Everybody out! We make for the Gap of Rohan!”

Emma fully agreed and whirled around to run bloody away from this place.

Ah.

Out, however, was exactly where they couldn’t go, judging by the writhing mass of massive tentacles and screaming hobbits waving around.

Emma froze in horror, gasping as she spotted Frodo being shaken like a milkshake by a slimy tentacle. The little hobbit was yelling his head off. Why Emma and the others hadn’t noticed this before, she would never know.

Aragorn and Boromir rushed past her, swords at the ready, and started hacking at the arms, with no effect whatsoever - except perhaps making the creature slightly angrier.

Something rose from the depths of the lake, emerging as something purely out of Emma’s choicest nightmares. It was a massive, slimy, black, tentacular-y... thing.

“Oh for heavens’ sake!” She heard Hook yell exasperatedly. “This place has a bloody Kraken, too?”

Emma was about to answer with something as witty as her brain could manage in its state of horrified terror, when she suddenly felt something wet and slippery snake around her ankle. She looked down and saw a huge, thick tentacle twisting around her leg.

Not Good. Very Not Good.

“Uh-oh.” she had time to mumble, before she she felt herself get wrenched up into the air.

 

0o0o00000

 

Hook wrenched his sword from its sheath as the Swan girl screamed at the top of her lungs. He watched in fascinated horror as the kraken-monster-thing swung her into the air and proceeded to shake the living daylights out of her.

Hook heard the prince and Snow White shout as they realized the Kraken had their daughter. The prince ran towards her, hacking at the massive tentacles and yelling at Emma to hang on. Snow White shot arrow after arrow at the mass of lags, piercing them continually but failing to make any change whatsoever.

Hook dodged as a heavy tentacle crashed towards him, and would have been squashed by another had the dwarf not shoved him out of the way.

“Thanks, mate!” he called to the small, red-haired mountain,

Gimli grunted in reply, although that may just have been his reaction to plunging his ax in the monster’s tentacle.

Hook turned his gaze once more to the Kraken’s hostages. Frodo was still yelling, and struggling wildly; it appeared the monster was dangling him above his huge and very toothy mouth. Hook winced. Death could not get very much worse than that.

Emma was unfortunately still being shaken around, no doubt because the beast was by now really quite angry. The tentacle gripping her swung by the pirate, and Hook caught a glimpse of her terrified face. Only a glimpse though, because almost immediately something heavy and hard smashed into his forehead.

Blinking and groaning in pain, Hook clutched his head. Through his throbbing eyes he saw the offensive object on the floor: it was Emma’s ‘gun’.

Grinning suddenly despite the pain, Hook picked the little (but quite deadly, he had learned) weapon and pointed it carefully at the beast. He remembered how he had shot Belle that one time. It seemed like years ago since the plucky girl had come to steal back Bae’s shawl.

Hook squinted, aimed and pulled the trigger. The noise was deafening, and surprised even the ones who knew what it was. The effect on the beast was immediate, and effective (thankfully).

The Kraken screeched and roared in pain (Hook suspected the bullet had lodged itself somewhere in the equivalent of its forehead) and waved its tentacles around even more fiercely, though fortunately its grip slacked and both Frodo and Emma tumbled through the air, only to be caught by Aragorn and David respectively.

“Into the mines! Now!” Aragorn yelled, still carrying Frodo.

David quickly set Emma back down and dragged her into the mines, with Snow following suite between a couple more shots. The poor Swan girl seemed to have legs made of cotton after her ordeal, and her face was as white as flour.

Hook found his sword, which he had dropped when the gun hit his face, and ran after the rest of the company, not a moment too soon. The monster, furious now, extended its deadly tentacles and latched at the huge stone doors, wrenching them off their hinges and destroying the entrance. The company huddled into the tomb-like mine and watched in horror as the moonlight was blocked from their sight in mere seconds by tumbling rock.


	11. Mines, Tombs and Goblins

Emma wheezed slightly as she straightened, clutching David’s arm for support - or at least she thought it was David’s. It was so dark she couldn’t make out anything, not even by holding a hand up to her face.

Emma coughed some dust out of her lungs, still shaken - quite literally - from her ordeal with the Kraken. The fellowship, had, from what she’d glimpsed, all presumably survived and were safe. Except that they were now stuck in a mine-tomb filled with skeletons, no light, and nowhere else to go. Great.

“Everybody alright?” David’s voice called softly from somewhere to her left. Ah. It wasn’t his arm she’d been holding, then. She wondered who’s it was. The fellowship made sounds of confirmation in response to David’s query, some more audible than others. Suddenly, a bright light burst out and everyone squinted. Emma noticed through the slits of her eyelids that the arm she was holding belonged to Hook. She almost sighed in relief. At least it hadn’t been Boromir’s.

Gandalf was holding his staff aloft, which appeared to be the source of light. (Always handy to have a wizard or two near you). Gandalf surveyed them all and visibly counted them to make sure everyone was present. His face seemed older and more lined in the bleak white light of his staff. He sighed grimly.

“We have but one choice. We must face the long dark of Moria.” he concluded, turning and gingerly picking his way across dead dwarves, cobwebs and rusty weapons.

Emma gaped at him and exchanged a glance with her parents. No rest? How driven was this guy?

Nevertheless, seeing everyone else silently following the wizard, Emma grit her teeth and kept pace. She shivered slightly, her clothes damp with the lake’s dark water. The Kraken had seen fit to thoroughly soak his victims as well as rattle them in the air. Maybe he liked to wash his food before he ate it, Emma thought wryly.

Frodo, her co-victim, was walking alongside her, still pale and as wet as she was. She nudged him gently and smiled when he looked at her.

“Still alive, then?” she whispered, trying to make her tone as light as possible. The hobbit smiled a little in response, but made no sound. His eyes - so blue, like little Rain in The Shire - were still huge from shock, and like Emma he was shivering.

At least it was warm in the caves, though. It had been verging on frosty outside, but the mines were as warm as Bilbo’s kitchen in Bag End. In a close, muggy sort of way. The air seemed thick here, thick with dust, darkness and death. The three Ds, Emma remarked inwardly.

Gandalf’s light soon illuminated a few thick sticks which could make-do as torches. Aragorn, Boromir, Gold and David each grabbed one and quickly lit them with Sam’s kindling kit. It was best to have as much light as possible, lest they should either lose each other or miss a crater large enough to fall through.

Both Regina and Gold were doing remarkably well. Emma supposed the shock of the surprise attack had prevented Gold from using his powers to help kill the beast. (A small part of Emma knew that she was probably telling herself that to make her feel better, but she truly did not see any other reason as to why the wizard did not come to their aid with magic. Unless he was still clinging to the secrecy of his powers, of course, which seemed the more likely explanation). Gold was anyhow fulfilling his place as a member of the company as fully as the rest of them. Right now he held a torch high, and the rest of the journey he had willingly stood watches, carried extra packs, and even cooked. Emma was surprised at how seemingly docile he was. She’d been expecting a much more imp-like person now that the true Rumplestiltskin had emerged. She knew it was probably all for show, to gain the trust of their new companions, but she was still relieved he wasn’t making matters even more difficult for them by striking deals or the like.

As for Regina, she was still determinedly keeping pace with the rest of them. Her face was slightly grey, her jaw set and her feet surely aching, but the glint of determination in her hard gaze was more than enough to dissuade anyone from thinking she was in need of any help.

Emma felt vaguely jealous of that: she had walked just as much and as long as the queen and the rest of the fellowship, yet grumbles and complaints came easily to her, whereas the queen had expressed her discomfort only a couple of times since their departure. Emma had to admit it: the queen was strong. Suddenly the extent of her sacrifice to cast her revenge on them all those years ago did not seem so surprising, knowing now how decided Regina could be.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

The fellowship walked for hours, days, and at one point Emma was close to believing they had been inside these horrid mines for nearly a week. In fact, they’d been in the mines for about three days - said Gandalf - and it was during the morning of the fourth that they found themselves edging the sheer wall of the mines. The track was perhaps a foot-and-a-half wide at the most, and littered with pebbles, loose rocks and dust. Emma and the others had to keep their eyes on their feet all the time to avoid tripping and falling to their deaths in the gaping chasm to their right. If it hadn’t been for the extra torches, several of them would have been dead by now: the light from Gandalf’s staff alone was not powerful enough to light the way for all of them.

Emma awkwardly edged around a protruding bit of rock and latched onto the wall, clinging tightly to the rock and refusing to look down to her right. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on the back of Mary-Margaret’s head, who was walking in front of her. Her mother’s hair was ink-black in the flickering light of the torches – almost as black as the chasm to their side. Mary-Margaret suddenly stumbled a little and lurched. Emma gasped, reaching for her friend and clutched her arm. Mary-Margaret straightened and smiled weakly at her daughter.

“I’m fine.” She whispered, squeezing her hand gently. “Just a little tired.”

Emma nodded, her heart still beating wildly at the fright of Snow’s near-fall. They carried on in silence. The few words they had just exchanged had been near the only ones spoken that day. The members of the fellowship had hardly uttered more than a sentence each so far, so loath were they to disturb anything in these godforsaken mines.

Emma hated it. She hated every damn moment of it. If they didn’t have Gandalf’s light she thought she would have gone mad days ago. The darkness wasn’t the usual type, like the one in a bedroom in the middle of the night. It was a deep, velvety, impenetrable darkness which threatened to swallow you up as soon as you let your eyes leave the reassuring light of the torches. Gandalf had warned them that orcs swarmed these mines a century ago, and that some would still perhaps remain. So far, they had not seen anything, but that did nothing to reassure Emma - nor, she suspected, any of her companions.

After what seemed like an age of testing footholds, gingerly dodging ledges and wearily walking past dwarven skeletons, Gandalf spoke.

“The wealth of Moria was not in gold, or jewels,” he informed them, more loudly than anyone had spoken since they had entered the mines, “but in mithril.”

“Mithril?” Emma asked, puzzled. “What’s that?”

“Pure silver, lass.” Gimli answered passionately. “So pure it can be forged to make the sturdiest of weapons, or spun to create the thinnest of silver threads.”

Hook’s interest pricked up a little. Pure silver? That sounded nice. And valuable.

“Thorin gave Bilbo a shirt of mithril rings.” Gandalf commented mildly.

“Oh! That was a kingly gift!” Gimli gasped.

“Yes. I never told him, but I suspect it has a value greater than that of the Shire, and everything in it.”

Emma’s eyes widened and she exchanged a stupefied glance with Snow. The Shire? From what she’d seen of Hobbiton and the lands around, it was a very fertile corner of Middle-Earth, and certainly worth a pretty penny. Or at least it would be in America. She doubted the Middle-Earthians had the same sense of value, though; after all they still used gold, silver and bronze for money. Emma wondered what their reaction would be if she told them about currencies in Earth. Somehow she doubted a system based on credit and paper money more than value would make much sense to them.

Frodo, who was now between her and Mary-Margaret, faltered a little and slowed enough for Emma to bump into him. She frowned down at him in concern. He had a faraway look in his eyes, and Emma suspected the mention of his uncle had sent him off into a nostalgic daydream. She smiled and gently poked him in the ribs to continue. She was surprised to find that they were as hard as steel. The hobbit stumbled along again, but Emma stared at her hand, confused. Frodo didn’t wear any armour; so why was his torso that tough?

 

0o0o0o0o0o0

 

That afternoon, the fellowship arrived at an odd crossroads. On a large ledge littered with large boulders were three doors, clearly leading in three different directions. Gandalf lead them up a small flight of stairs and halted in front of the arches, troubled.

“I have no memory of this place.” He muttered.

The fellowship exchanged glances, unsure of what this entailed. Did this mean they were lost, or just halting for a while?

“Well, it’s no use just standing there for hours on end.” Gandalf sighed, answering their thoughts. He sat down and pulled out his pipe. “Were not going anywhere until I remember the correct way. We might as well get some rest while we can.”

Emma sighed in relief despite these rather depressing news. She sank down on a large rock, where she was soon joined by her parents, Hook, and Regina. Gold sat slightly apart from them, staring into the dark chasm that was always near them, his murky eyes cold and distant. The man troubled Emma a little. The days of endless, silent walking had given her a lot of time to think, and her thoughts had often turned to the mysterious wizard.

Why hadn’t he used his powers yet? Admittedly she had not either, but his magic would have been very useful on Caradhras, and she suspected he could light a brighter torch than Gandalf’s, which would always be a plus. Emma sighed. She knew they all had to keep their magic as secret as possible, but it was a hard pill to swallow knowing that they couldn’t use it to get better food, warmer fires or brighter lights.

The fellowship was scattered around the small platform, either talking quietly or simply closing their eyes and catching up on some sleep - Gandalf had driven them hard as they crept through the mines, fearful of getting ambushed by orcs or the like. Emma thought it was slightly silly: surely if there were still orcs around here they would have noticed or attacked their company ages ago.

Next to Emma, Regina shut her eyes and rested her head on the wall, her face wan and slightly grey. Looking around, Emma realized their journey so far had physically marked all of them. Even the hardy warriors - namely Aragorn and Boromir - looked pale and slightly haggard, although admittedly the neon-like light Gandalf’s staff was shining didn’t improve their complexion. Even Legolas, usually so pristine and unconcerned by their whereabouts, was showing signs of strain at having been underground for so long. Emma snorted softly, struck by the sudden irony of being concerned by something as absurd as their appearance when they were currently lost down in the middle of labyrinthine mines, with few provisions and increasing paranoia.

Snow heard her daughter’s small laugh and opened her eyes to smile faintly at her.

“How are you?” she mouthed.

Emma gave her a half-smile and a shrug. In truth, she didn’t know how she felt: tired, for sure, but also emotionally somewhat drained (four days in near complete silence was way too much thinking and brooding for her taste). On the other hand, there was the reassuring fact that every day was bringing them closer to Henry. Emma had glanced at the map Aragorn had in his bag: Isengard was at the end of the chain of mountains, and Moria was about halfway down. The fact that they were getting closer to her son was indisputable. But the guilt of keeping his location a secret was slowly crushing Emma; there were moments when she felt like suddenly blurting it out, and others when she shunned the mere notion of telling the others for fear of their reaction. And the worst bit was that she knew the longer she kept her secret, the worse it would be when they found out.

Obviously, she couldn’t let all of that out to her concerned friend, so Emma just smiled again and squeezed Snow’s hand. Her mother returned the slight pressure and gently disengaged herself from her sleeping husband to sit next to her.

“We’re doing the right thing, you know.” Snow whispered very quietly. Emma knew she wanted to prevent the others from hearing more than she was trying not to disturb David in his slumber. “This - travelling to help Frodo - is what we’re meant to do. I know it.” she finished seriously.

Emma threw her a quizzical glance. “What do you mean “meant” to?” she asked in the same timbre.

Snow squeezed her arm. “Well,” she began, slowly, “doesn’t it feel to you that all this -” she gestured vaguely around her, “Henry’s capture, Middle-Earth, Frodo’s quest - is the reason why we’re here?”

Emma frowned. Reason? “Well... Yeah - I suppose. But we came here to save Henry anyway. That’s the only reason we ended up here.”

Snow raised a shoulder in a tiny half-shrug. “You heard Gold all those times he talked about magic: it comes with a price, it’s dangerous and wonderful, but most of all it’s unpredictable. Who knows why we’re here, the important thing is that we are.” Snow paused, tracing the rough pattern of the rock she was sitting on with a finger. “But... I don’t know - it just seems to me that it’s all too strange and coincidental for this to have happened by chance: don’t you think it’s a little odd that we just happened to arrive here, on the day Bilbo left Frodo the Ring, and at the exact time this whole business would start? We came here at the ideal moment for us to get a feel for things, and with enough of an incentive to carry on with Frodo until Rivendell.” Snow paused again. “I know we came here to save Henry, Emma. But now I think that somehow we were meant to come here, and that the reason for that was to help Frodo in his quest.”

Emma listened to her mother’s quiet speech, shocked into silence. The possibility that she and her companions had landed in this strange yet wonderful world for the sole purpose of helping Frodo to destroy the Ring was absurd. Preposterous even.

And yet... Emma remembered all the things that had happened at the ideal moment to position her companions and herself in the way of the future most influential people in Middle-Earth. Snow’s words revolved in her mind: Bilbo’s birthday, Gandalf’s presence, Frodo’s newly-vacant home, Elrond’s quiet reservations on their presence in Middle-Earth... It all seemed to point to one thing: their presence here had been planned and awaited.

Emma sighed, and shook her head firmly. It was all fantasies, she reasoned. The silence of the past four days had starved her mind of interesting matters to think about, and Mary-Margaret’s theory had proved to be a juicy bone. There was no way on earth that they were sent here on purpose: the Jolly Roger’s course had been shifted only because of that stupid diamond, which Greg and that vicious murderess had set off.

Emma rubbed her forehead tiredly.

“No.” she muttered. “It’s not possible. We’re here because of Henry, nothing else.” She glanced at Snow. “When I volunteered to accompany Frodo, I did it because I wanted to help him, of course I did, but it was also because it was our best chance of finding Henry. I wouldn’t have gone if...” she bit her lip, catching herself just in time. She’d been about to reveal that she knew where Henry was.

Luckily, Snow didn’t notice anything amiss. She smiled and rubbed her daughter’s arm. “But you did.” she reminded her gently. “I know what you’re feeling, Emma. You’re feeling guilty that you’re not doing this only for Frodo. But, remember? At the start you only wanted to look for Henry - we only left The Shire because we thought it would bring us closer to him - but now you want to help Frodo as well. That doesn’t make you a bad person, Emma.” Snow whispered gently. “It just makes you human. It’s natural to want to find your son - any mother would neglect her friends in a search for her child. But you’re also making room for those who equally need your help, but whom you’re not obliged to aid in any way. And that, if anything, makes me prouder than ever.” she finished with a warm, happy smile.

Emma looked at her mother and swallowed a hard lump of emotion in her throat. Tears were starting to prickle her eyes, and her heart clenched almost painfully. Her mother’s words had unleashed a violent wave of conflicting emotions inside her. Happiness fought with guilt, and love battled with sadness. Suddenly, she leaned forwards and hugged her mother tightly, too overcome with emotion to curse the small tears that were now trickling down her cheeks. Snow seemed slightly startled at this unusual show of affection, but warmly returned the embrace and tightly wrapped her arms around her daughter.

They sat there, entwined, for what seemed like hours. Such a position was new to Emma. She’d almost never been held like this, and certainly not for this long. In her mother’s arms she felt warm, safe, and - most of all - happy. She rubbed her cheek slightly on Snow’s coat, trying to put a stop to the flow of tears. Slowly, she regained control of her emotions. Within a few minutes she was in control again, and took deep breaths to completely calm herself. But she didn’t let go. Curiously, she was actually enjoying the moment, and the small circles Mary-Margaret was rubbing in her back were quite soothing.

After a few more minutes, Snow spoke again.

“You’re changing you know.” she said softly.

Emma loosened her hold slightly and looked into her mother’s eyes.

“What?” she asked, confused. “No, I’m not.”

Snow smiled. “I mean you’re starting to look like you belong here. The archery, the clothes, the quest... Even the way you talk.”

“What?”

Snow laughed softly. “When you swore to Frodo that you would help him, you actually sounded like someone from here.” she explained, grinning a little. “Your speech changed a little: it’s more old-fashioned, now. You’re starting to sound a bit like Frodo and some of the hobbits we met.”

Emma’s mouth was slightly open. She hadn’t ever expected that. “No, I am not.” she repeated dumbly. “I don’t speak like them. Uh-uh. Nope. No way. Zilch. Never.” she stammered, alarmed. “I do not sound that archaic - Jeez, these guys sometimes sound like they’re quoting the Bible!” she exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly.

Snow grinned. “There’s no need to be so shocked!” she answered laughingly. “I though you sounded quite cool - a bit like someone in a movie.”

Emma made an awkward movement halfway between a shrug and a wince. “This whole adventure is looking like a bloody movie.” she mumbled. “I swear the others”(she meant the members of the company who weren’t strangers to Middle-Earth) “only say stuff that they’ve, like, prepared. Most of what they say sounds like dramatized lines from a film.”

Snow made an amused sound of agreement, but was stopped from answering by a small tug on her sleeve. Both women looked down slightly to see Pippin’s curious face, followed by an interested Merry.

Snow looked inquiringly at them.

“What’s a ‘Bible’?” Pippin asked curiously.

“And what’s a ‘movie’? Is it like a ‘film’?” Merry asked in turn.

Emma exchanged a glance with Mary-Margaret and scratched her head, wondering how on earth to answer.

 

0o0o0o0o0oo0o

 

 

They halted for a total of around six hours. Most of the fellowship had slept the whole time, while others had napped only a little and spent the rest of the time talking quietly or simply daydreaming by themselves. At last, Gandalf brightened and stood up.

“Ah!” he declared triumphantly. “It’s this way!”

“He’s remembered!”

“No. But the air doesn’t smell so foul down here. When in doubt Meriadoc, always follow your nose.”

The company followed Gandalf up a fleet of stairs. And another... And another...and yet another interminable sweep of spiraling staircases.

After an hour of wearily climbing the narrow stone steps, Emma had had enough. She was dizzy, her feet ached, her hands were blistered from clutching the ledge so often, and her throat was parched from lack of water. She was about to call for a brief rest when Gandalf halted and raised his staff higher. She saw that they had at last arrived at the top and emerged into a much wider space.

“I think I can risk a little more light.” Gandalf muttered, waving it a little. The beam from the crystal on his staff expanded and increased in brightness. Nearly everyone in the company gasped as the wondrous sight was revealed to them.

“Welcome to ancient dwarf hall and city of Dwarrowdelf.” Gandalf said, his voice echoing in the suddenly vast space around them.

A hall, huge and cavernous, extended from their standing point to as far as the eye could see - Emma doubted even Legolas, with his acute senses, could perceive the end of it. Hundreds of huge pillars dozens of feet high rose from the floor to the top of the hall, casting great black shadows on the stone floor and tricking the eyes into thinking that their pattern was endless.

Sam Gamgee’s mouth was slightly open in wonder. “Well, there’s an eye-opener, and no mistake.” he breathed.

Emma nodded wordlessly. She cautiously walked over to the nearest pillar and lightly traced the pattern carved into the foot of it. The decorated bottom of the pillar was taller than her, and she doubted she could touch the ledge above it even if she reached up on her toes. The pattern engraved in the stone was nothing short of amazing: it was complicated, angular and perfect to the nearest tenth of a millimeter. The squarish knots and interlocking lines reminded Emma a little of an old scarf with a Celtic pattern she had once owned. She looked around her and stared at the rest of the countless pillars. The amount of work that gone into the making of such artifacts was almost too great to imagine: each pillar had been cut, sculpted and engraved lovingly and flawlessly.

“Was it always this dark?” she found herself asking at large, though she was careful to keep her voice as low as possible.

“Dark?” Gimli repeated, slightly indignant. “No, lass. The halls of Dwarrowdelf were once filled with sunlight, mountain breeze and laughter. These were the halls in which the markets were held, and merchants travelled far and wide for a chance to sell their goods here - even men sometimes ventured near enough to do likewise. These pillars were often the favourite places for children to play around, and many passages such as the one we’ve just left lead to whole flights of passages. And they lead to other halls, rooms and even houses.” He paused and sadly passed a hand over the faded patterns on one of the walls. “These halls were alive, once.”

“And I have no doubt that in time they will be once more, my friend.” Aragorn said kindly, clapping the dwarf lightly on his shoulder. “But I also think that this darkness is because it it nighttime. We shall see the full splendour of  your cousin’s home in the morning.”

Gandalf nodded his approval, and the company was given permission to settle down to rest for the night. Despite their relief at having at last emerged from the stairs, the fellowship found that they missed the close quarters and the security that the dark corridors gave them. They huddled around the archway they had gone through and settled down to sleep.

Gandalf allowed them no fire, so the companions had to make do with chewing a small strip of meat each (except Legolas, who like the rest of his kin did not eat meat) and a couple of dried fruit washed down with leathery water from their gourds. Emma frowned as she re-corked hers: their water was running dangerously low. They would have to leave the mines soon or they would die of thirst before.

As per their custom now, they arranged watches. Emma was assigned second watch, while Aragorn volunteered to take the first. Emma was grateful for the couple of hours of sleep she would get, but her heart sank at the notion of sitting in the dark, constantly on red alert in case anything came slithering by. She hated those moments, but argued fiercely when any of the men tried to relieve her from her duties. She was a strong, independent women, she told them. She could stand a few watches.

That was what she told herself as Aragorn gently shook her awake a few hours later. The faint light from one of the torches deepened the lines of sorrow and exhaustion around his eyes, but he smiled in slight amusement as Emma determinedly sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She took the torch from him and clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Get some sleep.” she breathed, peering at him in concern. The man looked dead on his feet. She doubted he’d slept even when he could in the last few days.

Aragorn nodded once and laid down in the spot she had vacated. Emma smiled slightly at that: she’d been surprised at first, and not altogether pleased, when the experienced members of the fellowship had done that after exchanging watches. Once, when she was still unaware of this system, she’d tried to regain her place in the dark, and ended up trying to lay down on top of a very annoyed Boromir. His anger and Emma’s embarrassment and irritation had escalated to an outright shouting match, which Gandalf had had to end with his thunder-voice trick. The event had been quite unpleasant at the time, but now the memory of it brought a smile on Emma’s lips.

Emma settled on a piece of floor which wasn’t strewn with gravel or their belongings. She deliberately pressed her back against the cold stone wall behind her, thinking the lack of comfort would keep her awake more easily. She wriggled a bit and gently shoved someone’s foot out of her way.

For the first hour, she kept herself entertained by trying to discern Gimli’s frequent muttering in his sleep, but as these were in the impossibly-guttural language of Khuzdûl, this proved to be very difficult and ultimately pointless.

The second hour Emma mostly tried to keep sleep at bay by frequently pinching the skin on her arm. The adrenalin released by the slight pain stopped sleepiness for about thirty seconds, and then her eyelids would start fluttering again.

She jerked awake from a state of semi-consciousness for the third time, in a slight panic for a moment because she thought she had slept for a time. But the complete darkness and steady light of the torch told her she had been asleep for a few moments only. She sighed and stretched a hand over to the torch, her fingers ghosting over the warm embers, thinking that even her first conscious night in Rivendell had seemed shorter than this endless watch.

Suddenly, her head shot up, her senses full-on again. She thought she’d heard something. Was it her imagination, or had something just tap-shuffled a few feet away from them?

Emma stayed utterly still, wondering if she was going mad. She hated this darkness with a passion, but if it was also going to cause her to lose her senses, she would definitely start to loathe it. She stayed immobile for a full minute before she sighed and relaxed her posture. Maybe it’d only been one of her companions shifting in their sleep.

She played with the embers of the torch again, wishing that her two hours would hurry up and get here so that she could wake Hook and get some more sleep.

Emma looked up sharply. She had heard it again: that shuffly noise from earlier, and it definitely wasn’t one of her companions. She froze again and strained her ears. She thought she could make out more similar noises, although they were much softer and almost inaudible. But she was sure that she’d heard it this time. She crept towards Strider and whispered in his ear.

“There’s something out there.”

“It’s Gollum.” he breathed back, clearly widely awake.

Emma rocked back onto her heels, stunned.

“What?” she hissed. “The mad guy who had the Ring before Bilbo?”

“Yes. He’s been following us since we entered the mines.”

Emma made a gulping sound. “But... But... Isn’t he dangerous? Didn’t he try to eat Bilbo?”

Aragorn exhaled softly.

“Gollum is a dark, twisted creature.” He whispered very softly. “Driven mad by the power of the Ring. He is crazed, but that does not make him stupid. In fact, it makes him all the more cunning: he will not try anything while he knows there are so many of us and one always watching for danger.”

Emma swallowed tightly.

“But, hang on.” she argued. “Shouldn’t we do something about it?” She wasn’t very comfortable with the idea of killing something, but if that was what it took to ensure the company’s momentary safety, she would do it.

“Nay. Gandalf believes he still has a part to play in this world, whether for good or ill.” Strider answered, no doubt guessing her thoughts.

“But that’s... Stupid.”

“It is not my decision to make, nor is it yours. And even if it was, I would not so lightly throw away Gandalf’s counsel.” Aragorn told her quietly, but sternly.

Emma bit her lip, hesitating on whether to argue, or even answer. Strider was making good sense, but it still didn’t make her any easier on the fact that there was constantly a mad, skulking, lust-driven little imp following them.

But she didn’t want to appear weak or afraid in front of the ranger, so instead she poked him rather hard in the ribs.

“I thought I told you to sleep.” she muttered with a scowl.

Though she couldn’t see it, she felt Aragorn’s small, sad smile in response.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0

 

The fifth day, the fellowship awoke to morning. And not just ‘morning’, but real morning, to everybody’s delight: sunlight filtered through the shattered entrances and walls of Dwarrowdelf, and a slight breeze even made itself known. At one point, a bird even chirruped a small song, and the company was reminded that other life existed in the mountains than dwarves and orcs.

They set off, most of them rested anew after a few hours’ sleep (they had all, even the six companions from Storybrooke, stopped reckoning in ‘good night’s sleep’, for the very notion of the thing had ceased to exist since they had left The Shire) and more than ready to march out of the dreary mines.

By the time she woke up after having gone back to sleep at the end of her watch, Emma had completely forgotten about Gollum, so she neglected to tell her friends about him. Instead, she enthusiastically answered all the hobbits’ frequent questions on her world, aided by her parents and sometimes even Regina. The sunlight and warm porridge had lifted any reserve they had about keeping quiet, and Emma welcomed the conversation. She noticed Gold frown as she detailed some of the things they had on earth (namely play-stations, banks, radios and airplanes), and as soon as she’d finished her explanations, she sidled up to him.

“What?” she muttered, knowing she would hear his disapproval one way or another.

He glanced at her coolly.

“I would exercise more caution when talking to our friends, Miss Swan.” he advised her quietly. “We agreed that we should stay as inconspicuous as possible: waving around knowledge on flying machines and seemingly-magical devices hardly qualifies as discretion.” he finished dryly.

Emma shrugged. She saw no problems in telling the hobbits about her world: they were so medieval in both their knowledge and attitude to technology that she had no doubt they dismissed most of what she said as pure fantasy anyway. She said so to Gold, who gave her another cold glance and pointedly walked away. She smirked: the guy was just a bad loser.

After an hour or so (and they were still walking in Dwarrowdelf - the place was truly huge), the company saw the first door which actually appeared to lead to a room of some significance. A particularly bright beam of sunlight shone in the room, illuminating something that looked strangely like...

Emma squinted, trying to discern the object, but Gimli gave a great gasp and a shout. He promptly started running towards the door, moaning in apparent distress.

“Gimli!” Gandalf called curtly, clearly already knowing the general nature of what the dwarf would find.

Emma jogged after him and arrived in the sunlit room slightly breathless. Her heart immediately sank as the object revealed itself to be what she had suspected: a large white tomb, with large angular signs engraved on the top. This was the first real tomb they had seen so far: clearly whoever was inside had been a person of great significance.

Emma awkwardly placed a hand on the sobbing dwarf’s shoulder. Gimli was kneeling at the foot of the marble tomb, his small, bulky form shaking as the cries wrenched from his throat. He moaned in agony as the others joined them in the room. The fellowship bowed their heads in respect and compassion for Gimli’s grief. Gandalf sighed and approached the pair, tracing the letters gently as he read them out.

“Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.” he read.

Gandalf heaved a deep sigh again and took off his hat. “He is dead, then. It’s as I feared.”

He patted the dwarf’s shoulder gently and paced over to the head of the tomb.  He bent down and retrieved a large, bound leather object. Emma thought it might once have been a book, but the thing was in such a pitiful state that it was highly doubtable. Hook seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“Someone’s been going a bit rough on the cleaning of that thing.” he commented mildly.

Gold looked over and approached Gandalf, who was now gingerly leafing through the pages of the book - Emma was impressed they were still turnable.

“Belle would have killed me if I kept a book in this condition.” she heard Gold mutter. She suppressed a smile. Belle nearly had a heart-attack when she’d witnessed Emma dog-earing one of her books to mark her space. Emma was quite certain her ears still rang from the ensued scolding she’d received.

Gandalf blew a thick layer of dust and grit from the last written page, his brow furrowed in concern - or was it dawning comprehension?

“They have taken the Bridge and the second hall.” he started reading aloud. “We have barred the gates...but cannot hold them for long...the ground shakes...drums... Drums in the deep...we cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. Will no-one save us?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw something move. She turned her head to see Pippin prodding a skeleton sitting on a well. She gasped in horror. “Pip-!”

“They are coming.”

The head of the skeleton broke away from the body and tumbled behind it into the well, crashing and banging so loudly it resonated into the silent room and caused Snow and Emma to clap their hands over their ears. The crashes were followed by the slithering and smashing of the rest of the skeleton as it too fell in, pulled by the chain and bucket which had fallen after the head.

The company winced at each crash, and they all closed their eyes as the noises became more distant, praying that somehow, by any miracle, they would go unnoticed.

When at last the sounds had faded, Gandalf snapped the book shut (Gold winced - Belle must have influenced him in more ways than one) and glared at the shame-faced hobbit.

“Fool of a Took!” he snapped. “Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!”

Snow opened her mouth to protest at the wizard’s harshness, but Emma arched an eyebrow at the hobbit. She didn’t think he ought to do quite what Gandalf had said, but she certainly felt that he deserved the barb. Pippin bit his lip and looked down at his feet. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Oh, quit looking like someone stole your candy.” she told him snippily. “Henry always does that when he’s not allowed more ice-cream. It never works.”

The hobbit looked at her confusedly. Emma sighed and put a hand on her hip.

“He didn’t mean it.” She said slowly and clearly. “We’re all allowed mistakes, you know.”

Pippin gave a barely discernible nod. She slapped his shoulder and made to walk back to the tomb, where Gimli was still crying, though silently.

_Boom_.

Everyone froze.

_Boom_.

Emma exchanged a glance with her parents as her heart abruptly sank. No. This could not be happening!

_Boom_.

The drum sounds expanded, and it suddenly sounded like the whole of Moria had been transformed into a vast drum. Somewhere, a horn sounded - the noise it made rather got Emma suspecting its blower wasn’t anything pleasant.


	12. "A WHAT, sorry?... Balrog?"

“Mr Frodo!” Sam cried, pointing at Frodo’s belt.

Emma glanced at Frodo’s waist and saw a small sword she’d never noticed before. Frodo unsheathed the little blade and Emma noted with alarm that it was glowing blue. She barely had to wonder at the meaning of this before Legolas shouted “Orcs!”

Emma gulped. She’d known that one day the company would have had to fight those awful creatures her companions had told her about (Merry and Pippin had particularly relished telling them such stories at night round a campfire), but she’d hoped - prayed - that said day would take as much time as it wanted.

Unfortunately however, as so many times before in her life, fortune decided to show Emma just how spiteful and undeniably creative it could be by throwing things in her general direction which she had no particular wish of seeing. In this case, the first thing that came flying at Emma was an arrow which had whizzed into the room through the door the men were trying to barricade.

Boromir wrenched his head back through the door, narrowly avoiding another arrow.

“They have a cave-troll.” he informed them with mock enthusiasm, unsheathing his sword impressively.

Emma gulped. “D’you think those are bigger than ogres? Or just as huge?” she whispered to Mary-Margaret, who had already notched and released a couple of arrows of her own.

“I don’t know, but I hope they’re just as blind!”

Emma awkwardly pulled her own blade from its sheath. The sword was still shiny and sharp, but despite many training sessions around the campfire before nightfall she was little better than she had been at first. She held it out in front of her shakily, pointing it at the door but not quite sure what to do next.

Strider told her.

“Stay close to Gandalf! Stay back!” he ordered the hobbits, unsheathing his own sword and ushering them to the back of the room. He glanced at Emma’s terrified face and touched her shoulder briefly. “Stay with them. Kill anything that tries to get past.” he told her, his face sympathetic but grim.

Emma jerked a nod, too tense to manage much else. Slightly in front of her, Gimli muttered an apologetic prayer in Khuzdûl and clambered onto his cousin’s grave, brandishing two huge axes that were riddled with rust but still very deadly-looking.

“Let them come!” he fumed in a growl. “There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!”

The harsh cries and sounds of approaching foes were now louder and even more terrifying. Emma’s grip tightened on the hilt of her blade, though she could distantly remember Aragorn telling her that she ought to keep it loose. For the sake of her companions’ patient tuition (which also remarkably resembled frequent beatings), she shifted her fingers and tried to relax her grip a little, but that only succeeded in making her palms sweaty.

Around the little group of clustered hobbits, wizard and women (Regina had joined them), the others had left the hastily-barricaded entrance and arranged themselves in a line, weapons at the ready and pointed at the shaking door. Said door was under severe strain as the orcs tried to hack it down.

As soon as a hole appeared Legolas let fly and successfully shot an orc in the head, judging by the scream. Snow also released a couple of arrows of her own, both of which hit their target. Emma saw Boromir glance quickly at her mother and almost smirked: the big burly Gondorian was probably only just realizing what women could do. She shifted her grip again. She’d get through this if only to prove his expectations of females wrong, whatever the cost.

A few noisy and tense moments later, the door gave way and orcs rushed in, screeching and waving around barbed weapons. The creatures were horrid: black skin, bolts and metal plates screwed into their bodies, boils and warts erupting all over, and a foul smell of death, blood and body rot overwhelmed the senses of the fellowship’s most inexperienced members.

Emma stopped thinking.

She dodged, lunged, ducked and parried accordingly, but her movements were jerky and instinctual, with no actual training guiding her actions. She distantly heard herself shriek each time she landed a blow or blocked one, and any movement around her which didn’t immediately concern her were blurred and confused. Emma soon found herself fighting back-to-back with Regina, who was faring surprisingly well, seeing as the queen had received very little sword-training. Together, the two women, once so opposed, fought to keep the hobbits safe. Although they were both new to the game, they gave way to their instincts as one covered the weak spots of the other: one lunging, the other parrying and blocking. When Emma ducked, Regina thrust. When the queen plunged her sword in an orc’s chest, Emma narrowly blocked a stray blow which would have cleaved at least one of their arms off.

After what seemed like hours to Emma and moments to Regina, there was a sudden lull in the level of attack. They lowered their blades slightly and glanced around, looking for what had caused the pause in battle. The fellowship was scattered across the room: Snow was on a high ledge, shooting at stray orcs, while beneath her David fended off anything that tried to come close; Aragorn was in the middle of the room, stumbling to his feet, with Sam beside him. Both were staring up in horror as most of the remaining orcs were scuttling away, either shrieking in panic or gloating gleefully.

Emma soon saw why.

A huge creature stumbled into the small-battle scene lead by an orc pulling on a chain, and Emma’s heart almost stopped. It was smaller than the ogres of the Enchanted Forest, sure, but this thing clearly had its sight, and also unfortunately appeared to be a lot quicker than ogres. When the cave-troll brandished its massive hammer and swept an entire radius of ten feet around it, it soon became clear that neither friend nor foe were safe from its viciousness. Orcs either scrambled out of its way into the halls behind them or were quickly engaged into battle by Boromir, Hook, Aragorn and David. Gold had positioned himself as something of a shield in front of Frodo and his cousins, whacking orcs with a mattock he had picked up and efficiently making use of his sword. Although his movements - like Emma and Regina’s - lacked any real finesse, there was no denying they were effective.

Rather typically of a big bully, the troll chose to go after one of the smallest, easier victims. Or so it thought. Samwise Gamgee, somehow, had managed to acquire a frying pan (no doubt wrenched from his pack) and was, to use his own words from earlier, “getting the hang of it”. The hobbit finished off a snarling orc with his sword, whacked his pan at the troll, missed, and ducked between the monster’s legs, narrowly avoiding a flapping fold of skin/fat/something of a more unsavoury nature. The troll roared in fury and lunged at him, brandishing his hammer and preparing to bring it down on the cowering hobbit. Fortunately, Aragorn, Boromir and Emma had spotted the hobbit’s plight and halted the troll’s momentum by heaving at the heavy chain with all their strength.

Groaning, Emma dropped her sword completely and used both hands to pull the chain. The troll stumbled backwards and looked at them with a peculiar look of mutinous fury and confusion on its brutish face. It roared again and swung at them. Aragorn and Emma ducked in time, but Boromir, who still had a firm grip on the chain, was thrown across the room into a stone wall. Emma cried out and stumbled to her feet towards the fallen warrior.

She reached him just as he straightened and shook his head to clear his sight. She crouched down quickly and shouted at him.

“Are you alright?”

Boromir looked surprised at her presence, but nodded and made to stand up. She helped him up by pulling his arm one-handed, but he suddenly wrenched her down again, crying out in alarm. Emma gasped in both shock and pain as her arm almost got wrenched out from its socket. She crashed to the gravel-strewn floor, Boromir’s arm preventing her from rising. She felt a thud next to her and turned to see a dead orc with a familiar-looking blade buried in its back.

Letting out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, Emma stood up with Boromir and looked around in time to see Aragorn nodding at them in acknowledgment. Only then did Emma understand: Aragorn had saved them both from an approaching orc by throwing his dagger at it. She sighed in relief, but before she could let it out fully, Boromir pulled her around again and plunged his sword in another orc. Emma frowned. Not that she minded still being alive, but this was starting to feel and look alarmingly like a handsome hero rescuing a damsel-in-distress episode.

Not to be out-done, Emma wrenched her arm from Boromir’s grasp, quickly pulled out a small dagger the elves had given her, and buried it in the neck of a scrawny but equally vicious orc stupid enough to creep up behind her. Boromir looked a little stunned, but a look of resignation and even respect appeared on his face, and he handed her the sword she had dropped a minute earlier.

Emma took it with a nod and both ran to the aid of their companions, who were ganging up on the increasingly annoyed troll. Legolas and Snow were both shooting arrow after arrow at the huge creature, but its skin was so thick these appeared to have next-to-no effect. David, Hook, Aragorn and Gold were all dodging and scurrying around the troll’s legs, shouting at the top of their lungs to distract and confuse it. The troll screamed in frustration and swung at Gimli with his hammer, missing the dwarf but smashing Balin’s tomb to smithereens. Gimli rolled to safety and immediately proceeded to hack down passing orcs with his ax, while a few feet away the hobbits scurried to apparent safety behind one of the huge pillars. Pippin and Merry firmly pushed Frodo in a corner while standing guard with their small swords.

Meanwhile, Emma dodged the troll’s blows as best as she could, occasionally crying out as bits of flying rock hit her, but also killing orcs when she could. The others around her were still working together to bring down the troll down. At one point, Emma witnessed the truly amazing feat of Legolas scampering up the tightened chain onto the troll’s head and coolly shooting two arrows at once into the creature’s thick skull. Had she been only watching, her mouth would have dropped open in admiration, but as she was currently fighting for her life, she settled for shouting “Nice one!” at the pale gold blur she knew was the elf as she once more blocked an attack from an orc. The elf nodded at her and shot another arrow at the troll’s eye.

Mary-Margaret, despite David’s protests, jumped down from her relatively safe spot from the ledge and also started shooting at the troll’s face. The hobbits had taken to throwing rocks at it to confuse him further, but unfortunately the troll appeared to suddenly become very interested in Frodo.

The dark-haired hobbit scrabbled behind a pillar to escape the troll’s searching glare, but the monster soon found him nevertheless. Crying out in terror, Frodo stumbled and fell, scrambling back into a corner while the troll lumbered towards him. Seeing Frodo’s terrified face, which once more reminded Emma of Henry, she lunged over to the hobbit, ready to do anything to save him, be it jump onto the troll’s back or dance the macarena to distract it. She shouted for Aragorn for help, but he was now fighting more orcs and failed to hear her. Cursing, Emma ran over to Frodo and, seeing no other option, threw herself on the troll’s hammer before he could swing it up again. No doubt feeling the sudden difference in weight, the troll looked behind its back and spotted Emma. His brutish face had a clear look of indignation on it, and seemed to say “Oi, get off my hammer, you big heavy lump!” Emma, dangling from the raised hammer, almost opened her mouth to sassily respond that she only weighed about fifty kilos, thank you very much, but thankfully by then Aragorn had seen their situation and leaped to their help. The ranger thrust a huge spear into the troll’s saggy chest, his face contorting with the effort.

Emma shrieked in fear as the cave-troll reeled in shock and pain, the barbed spear having finally entered his thick skin. The monster was shaking his weapon in all directions, leaving her to cling on for dear life. Roaring in fury and stumbling about, the troll dropped his hammer - sending Emma rolling to the floor - and threw Aragorn against a pillar, knocking him unconscious.

Trembling and groaning as her vision cleared from black spots, Emma clambered to her hands and knees, watching in growing alarm as the troll angrily went after Frodo, who was anxiously trying to shake Strider to consciousness. The troll lunged at the hobbit a couple of times with the spear it had pulled out his front. Frodo dodged the first two blows, but ended up stuck in a corner again and the fellowship watched in horror as the troll brutally stabbed him in the stomach with the spear. Frodo’s face contorted in pain, but he uttered no cry as the troll pushed the spear deeper. With a slight choking sound, he slumped on his front to the ground as the troll stood back, clearly pleased with himself.

There was a moment of stunned silence as the fellowship watched the small form of the Ring-bearer laying in silence at the troll’s feet. Emma was staring at the little body, but her mind refused to accept what it was seeing. Frodo couldn’t be dead, it was impossible. He was the Ring-bearer, the quest couldn’t succeed without him. Her mind was curiously blank as around her she registered the fury of her companions. Oddly, she felt no anger, just numbness. She recognised it: it was the same numb she had felt twice in her life before, once when the police had informed her that Neal had betrayed her, and the other during the first few seconds of the minute she had thought Henry was dead, just before the end of the curse.

She slowly approached the little body as the others around her redoubled their efforts to kill the troll. Their cries and the monster’s grunts she distantly heard as she reached Frodo. He looked so small, so frail as she touched his shoulder gently. Absently, she heard the cries of her companions, louder this time. She turned slowly, her hand still clenching Frodo’s shoulder. Pippin and Merry were perched on the troll’s shoulders, yelling wildly and stabbing at it as it tried to shake them off. Hook, Aragorn, Boromir and David were fighting off and killing the rest of the orcs, cold fury making their movement both graceful and lethal. Regina, Gold and Sam had taken up the idea of throwing rocks at the troll, and the latter was growing more confused and distracted by the second.

By then, hot, red anger was starting to course in Emma’s mind and veins. The numbness turned to fury at the unfair death of her smallest friend, and she got to her feet, marching purposefully towards the troll, where her friends were trying to bring it down for good. She pushed aside Legolas, who was ready to shoot what looked like the ultimate arrow to finish off the troll, and pulled out her gun from the belt on her waist. The gesture came to her so naturally it was a wonder she hadn’t thought of it before.

Her fury and the adrenalin guiding her movements, Emma raised the gun, pointed and aimed at the troll’s open mouth, and pulled the trigger. The noise was deafening, especially to the fellowship, who still were very much unused to such sounds. The bullet did its job, though. The troll spurted black blood, choked, gargled, stumbled and fell with a crash that shook the whole room. Merry and Pippin barely managed to jump off its back in time before they too crashed to the floor.

Everyone ran to Frodo’s body. Aragorn sighed.

“Oh, no.” he breathed, voicing the company’s thoughts.

He gently picked up the little hobbit and turned him around so he could face up. To everyone’s astonishment, Frodo suddenly heaved a huge breath and opened his eyes. He was pale and pain was clear in his eyes, but he was very much alive.

“What?”

“How...?”

“Frodo!”

“Thank God!”

The fellowship shouted their relief as Frodo sat up a little straighter, smiling weakly at them.

“It’s alright.” he gasped. “I’m not hurt.”

“That’s what concerns me.” Regina answered, her eyes still wide with shock. “Just how is it you’re not dead?” she asked bluntly. Emma nearly rolled her eyes. Delicacy had never been a gift of the queen’s.

“That spear would have skewered a wild boar.” Aragorn agreed fervently.

Gandalf gave Frodo a knowing look and he smiled slightly.

“I think there’s more to this hobbit than meets the eye.”

For an answer, Frodo parted the top of his shirt enough so that everyone could see something shiny beneath it. Gimli gasped.

“Is that...?” Emma wondered, a sudden realization coming to mind as she remembered Frodo’s unexpectedly hard ribs the other day.

“Mithril.” the dwarf breathed, while Sam tentatively touched the shiny metal. “You are full of surprises, Master Baggins.”

Frodo nearly smiled in response, but there was the sudden noise of approaching harsh cries and horribly familiar screeches. The company jerked to action-mode once more, although Emma exchanged exasperated and tired looks with her parents. Surely not more orcs?

Frodo was helped up and Gandalf ushered them through a small passage back into the halls of Dwarrowdelf.

“To the bridge of Khazad-Dum. Quickly!”

The company, without so much as a pause for breath - to Emma’s great regret - ran out into the halls once more and followed Gandalf through the huge space. Emma wondered how on earth they could possibly escape: she could see and hear hundreds of thousands of creatures (probably goblins, judging by their ability to scale down pillars) rushing up to them in all directions. They ran as far as they could before they were encircled at last by a vicious, ugly, slimy crowd of goblins, all jeering maliciously at them and jabbing weapons in their direction. Emma stumbled back into Hook as one gnashed its teeth at her, repulsed and frankly terrified.

The company exchanged genuine panicky looks. There was no way on earth they could survive this. Even Legolas, Aragorn and Gandalf would eventually be outnumbered.

Emma desperately tried to summon her magic as a last resort - to Hell with secrecy. She tried to reach the threads of power who were never far from her mind, to coax them into life and action. But her panic and the screeching of goblins interfered with her concentration and her efforts remained fruitless. She looked wildly at Gandalf - he had magic too, surely he could get them out of this.

Suddenly, a roar - deep and distant - filled the vast halls and everyone froze, including the goblins. There was a tense moment of silence during which the goblins kept looking at them and glancing behind their backs in apparent fear. Flickering lights which somehow also resembled shadows began to appear at the end of the hall in front of them. The company held their breath, and a second roar resounded around them, this time sending the screeching goblins running. The foul creatures retreated either back up their columns or scurried off in the dark, their harsh screams fading as they ran away from the source of this new foe.

Gimli seemed to think it was the fellowship’s fearsome appearance that had scared the goblins off. He shook his ax after them and yelled in triumph until Emma slapped his shoulder and forcibly turned him towards the flickering lights at the end of the hall.

The men had gone back into fighting-stance, and Boromir glanced at Gandalf, who had shut his eyes and whose face was sporting an expression of uttermost doom.

“What is this new devilry?” he asked the wizard in quiet dread.

Gandalf opened his eyes slowly in defeat.

“A Balrog.” he answered. The flat resignation and clear helplessness in his voice made Emma wonder what on earth could be so bad as to render the indomitable old man so dejected.

The wizard remained motionless while the company exchanged glances of confusion. Only Legolas and Aragorn seemed to have understood Gandalf’s answer, and the sheer fear on their features somehow made Emma feel more afraid than the approaching shadowy flames. She had never seen either warrior show such naked dread of something, and the experience unsettled her more than she could say.

“A demon of the ancient world.” the wizard elaborated in a grim and slow tone. He raised his staff and sword and made a sudden sweeping motion. “This foe is beyond any of you. Run! Quickly!”

The company immediately turned on their heels and sprinted down the halls.

“Don’t you think you could have told us any sooner!?!” Emma screeched at Gandalf as they flew towards a distant archway in a massive wall.  The wizard simply waved his staff at her in a motion which clearly said ‘just hurry up, will you?’

Emma picked up her pace, taking over Gold and Regina and running beside her parents, simultaneously trying to sheathe her now-apparently-useless blade. Within a minute, the fellowship had reached the archway. Emma couldn’t help but reflect on how convenient it was for them that the archway was so close: they had spent the better part of the morning walking along the halls trying to find an exit.

One by one, they rushed through the archway. Boromir reached the edge first and nearly fell over the top as the floor suddenly ended beneath his feet, though fortunately for him Hook and Aragorn hauled him back to safety. The Gondorian clapped them both on the shoulder in thanks and continued to lead the rest of them down a narrow passage which seemed to lead to a dizzying stairway. Aragorn went back a little, concern clear on his face as he held out a hand to assist Gandalf, who was leaning heavily on the doorway. The wizard waved his hand away.

“Lead them on Aragorn!” he shouted. “Swords are no more use here. Fly you fools!”

Had Emma had enough space and time in her mind, she would have been a little offended at that last bit, but for now her entire being was consumed with the necessity to get herself and her companions down the stairs safely. The fellowship, in fairness to Gandalf’s words, fairly flew down the steps, and in front of Emma Legolas casually jumped down one flight of stairs to the one below, making her scowl in frustration, envy and admiration. She wished she could be an elf.

After what seemed like hours, they reached a place where about five feet of the stairway had been smashed enough to leave a gaping wide hole.

“This is bloody brilliant!” Emma gasped, clutching her ribs as she wheezed in a breath. “Now all we have to do is sprout wings!”

They all ignored her, and Legolas jumped first, followed by Gandalf. Emma straightened in shock. Right. If an old man could do it, she certainly could. Gathering up her nerve, Emma went back up a step and launched herself across the gap in the stairs before she or her parents could change her mind. She landed on the first step of the landing, wobbled, heard Mary-Margaret’s scream, then was wrenched back to safety by Legolas as Gandalf received Pippin in his arms.

David grabbed Snow, kissed her furiously, then, ignoring her shrieks and struggles, picked her up and threw her across to the others, where she was pulled safely up by Emma and Pippin. David followed suite, then Regina, Sam, Merry and Boromir.

Only Aragorn, Frodo, Gimli and Gold were left. A little more of the staircase fell away, and Aragorn made a move to toss the dwarf over, but Gimli held up a firm hand.

“No-one tosses a dwarf.” he informed them, before throwing himself across the void and barely landing on the first step. Legolas - who was doing a lot of saving lives that day - grabbed his beard (“Not the beard!!!”) and pulled him up as well, where he was quickly ushered to the back of the company to make room for the others who had yet to jump.

Arrows rained down from above them, shot by goblin dozens of feet away, high on a ledge across the huge chasm. Emma simply dodged the arrows, too concerned for her friends’ safety to care much about them, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Legolas notch an arrow and release it. She had no doubt the arrow had hit its target, judging by what she had seen of his skill earlier.

A huge boulder fell from above them, crashing further onto the stairs, widening the gap between the two columns of stairs even more. Emma’s eyes widened as she saw that the stairs the rest of the fellowship had started moving and leaning backwards.

Aragorn grabbed both Frodo and Gold.

“Lean forward!” he yelled.

The huge column shuddered, nearly immobilized, then slowly started to lean their way.

Emma gasped as she realized this would likely destroy the stairs they were on as well.

“Back!” she shouted, throwing out her arms to push her companions away from the edge. “All of you, back!”

The wobbling stairs in front of them crashed into theirs, and the three companions on it leaped onto the opposite side, where they were safely pulled up by their companions.

Well, except one.

Gold had safely landed on the first stair, but the sudden rush to help up Aragorn, who had wobbled and nearly fallen, unbalanced him and toppled him over the edge. Emma saw this and cried out, throwing herself on the floor as she looked over the edge. Her mouth fell open in shock as she caught sight of the wizard, who had managed to grab the ledge and was struggling to keep a grip.

“Hold on!” she shouted, leaning down and stretching an arm out to reach his. She reached further, her other hand holding onto a protruding rock for leverage. She could just about touch Gold’s fingers...

Emma felt her rock start to shift and move. She froze, terror spreading through her limbs. Slowly, as if in a dream, she felt herself fall forward, leaning more and more inexorably into the black chasm beneath her. She distantly heard herself scream, and barely registered Gold’s incredulous and exasperated face - well, his supposed saviour was just about to follow him to his death, really.

Emma scrabbled, slipped and tried again, terror lending strength to her arms and hands. Just as she was about to tumble past Gold and hurtle to the ground, she managed to grab hold of the remnants of the last stair. She clung on with all her strength. Above her, the heads of her companions appeared as they realized what had happened to the pair. Aragorn, Legolas, Hook and David gazed down in horror at them and immediately started to uncoil a loop of rope Sam had on his backpack. They lowered it down, but Emma’s physical position meant that Gold had to grab hold of it first.

Gritting her teeth, Emma redoubled her efforts to grip the rock, which she felt had started to slide beneath her sweating hands. Beside her she felt Gold scrabbling on the ledge as the others pulled him up, shouting encouragement. She looked up and met David’s terrified gaze.

“Hold on Emma!” he yelled at her.

Yeah, I wasn’t exactly planning on letting go! she thought, verging on hysteria. She realized now what Gold must have felt like when she’d shouted exactly the same thing to him a minute ago.

Finally, after what seemed like an age to Emma but in reality was only seconds, the rope was free again to rescue her. Her friends dangled it next to her hands, shouting at her to get on the rope. Emma gulped and didn’t move her hands, her fear increasing at the mere thought of letting go even for a second.

“Swan, you have to let go with one hand!” she heard Hook shout. Emma almost scoffed - easy for him to say! But she grit her teeth and gathered her nerve.

She tried. She really did. She tried to move her hand from the rock she was holding, but found herself unable to. She gulped again and the possibility that this could be the end crossed her mind for the first time. Even in her current state of terror and failing strength, the thought nearly made her cry. She would never see Henry again, she’d never hug her mother, she would never share a joke with her friends, never drive her yellow bug anymore...

At that horrible notion, Emma grit her teeth and summoned every last ounce of strength she had left. She let go with one hand and grabbed onto the rope (she nearly cried in relief that she had managed to get it on the first go) quickly moving the other hand along to secure her grip. Her companions shouted encouragement and pulled her up, while Emma hung on, propelling herself up with her legs against the edge of the staircase with the little force she had left. Finally, they dragged her over the edge and she collapsed on the floor, gasping and trembling all over. David swept her up and pulled her in for a hug; Emma could feel he was shaking to, though whether from fear, exertion or relief she couldn’t tell. Probably a mixture of all three, just like herself.

Aragorn’s hand on her shoulder jerked her back to reality: they were running away from some sort of fiery demon, they had lost a lot of time rescuing her and Gold, and the demon-thing was getting closer. She reluctantly pulled away from David and looked around, frowning.

“Where are the others?” she asked the ranger.

“They went ahead, Gandalf is leading them. Hurry, we must make all haste.”

Emma nodded and picked up the sword she’d let fall before her own after Gold. With her companions, she ran down the rest of the staircase and hurried along the narrow path along the abyss below them. After a couple of minutes of sprinting, they finally caught up with the rest of their companions.

Mary-Margaret pulled her breathless and gasping daughter into a quick tight hug, then let go as Gandalf ordered them to cross the bridge. (“Fly!”)

Emma looked past Snow’s shoulder and gulped. The bridge - more like a flight of vaguely solid-looking stone - was long, narrow, and terrifying. Emma recoiled at the idea of running along it: she wasn’t too fond of heights. Not scared of them, per se, but really not very attached to them either - they made her feel tiny and lose her balance a little.

Nevertheless, when Snow pulled her daughter by the hand, Emma followed dutifully, although inside her senses were in utter turmoil. She could hear the approaching Balrog, smell cordite and sulfur, feel Snow’s tight sweaty grip, taste the fear in the back of her mouth and see the endless black emptiness beneath her. Needless to say, it wasn’t the best combination of circumstances to keep a clear a level head.

Emma kept her eyes on Snow’s back as she stumbled behind her mother, deliberately avoiding looking down to limit the risks of her losing her balance. At last, she reached the end of the bridge and received a very relieved Pippin in her arms. The little hobbit hugged her middle fiercely as he gabbled his joy at seeing her safe in his thick Scottish brogue. Emma patted him absently on the back, all the time scanning the bridge and the opposite site in search of her companions. Hook and David had arrived to their side as well, but Aragorn and Gandalf had still not crossed the bridge. Emma frowned. What were they waiting for?

Gandalf waved Aragorn away, shouting at him to “fly, you fool!”

The ranger ran on the bridge but looked back at the wizard, who had his back turned to the fellowship and was facing the flames and the fiery shadows in the hall in front of him. Aragorn edged his way to the other side of the bridge, but kept glancing back at Gandalf. The wizard had unsheathed his sword once more and was staring at the flames as though waiting for something to leap out of them.

It did.

A huge black shape materialized into existence right in front of Gandalf, rearing high up before settling its fiery gaze on him. The creature was worse than Emma could have had imagined: it was blacker than shadow, hotter than the brightest flame and darker than the abyss below them. Curiously, it reminded her of the Satan-like creature from one of the Doctor Who episodes she’d been fond of. The Balrog approached Gandalf and roared. The wizard retreated a little to the middle of the bridge, then stopped and turned to face the demon, holding his staff aloft.

“You cannot pass.” He thundered, motioning with his sword that the fellowship should take cover. None of his companions obeyed him but watched, eyes wide in terror for their leader.

“What is he doing?” Mary-Margaret screeched. “He’s going to get himself killed!”

Emma shrugged helplessly in response, her eyes fixed on the old man who was either saving all their lives or dooming himself for eternity.

“Gandalf!” Frodo screamed, fighting to shake of Aragorn’s restraining hand.

The Balrog snarled and made to cross the bridge as well.

“I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Arnor. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udún!”

The Balrog merely took a step further. Gandalf waved his staff slightly and a bright white light started to shine from it. The light expanded into a white sphere, surrounding the wizard and illuminating every line in his face and every white hair. The Balrog snarled and brandished a huge, fiery sword, which he held up high in preparation to strike. Emma was frozen in horror. She watched as the demon crashed his blade onto the wizard and his halo of light, cringing and looking away at the last second, unable to watch as the wizard would be cleaved in two.

She heard the others gasp and the Balrog roar again, so she lifted her gaze back to the bridge again and her mouth fell open for the fourth time that day due to shock. Amazingly, Gandalf was still alive, standing... and fighting.

“Go back to the shadow.” Gandalf ordered the demon, his voice strained with fury and raw power.

The Balrog snarled and took a step on the bridge, thrashing a great whip at the wizard. The fiery strands of the whip cracked loudly enough for Emma to clap her hands over her ears, but Gandalf stood strong, and he grasped his staff with both hands, shouting at the top of his voice.

“YOU. SHALL NOT. PASS!”

Gandalf slammed his staff down on the bridge and the bright white light exploded at his feet. The Balrog reared slightly in surprise, but recovered the next second and took a step further on the bridge. Emma gasped as Gandalf failed to move away - if it were her, she’d be miles away already.

Suddenly, the bridge gave an almighty crack and shuddered. The Balrog halted in his advance, and Emma thought he looked confused for a second. The bridge cracked again and this time gave way entirely, conveniently stopping just in front of Gandalf but sending the Balrog down into the abyss.

The fellowship watched in a mixture of shock, relief and remaining fear as the fell creature tumbled in the darkness. On the remains of the bridge, Gandalf straightened and stumbled a little, turning to join his companions. Emma was about to shout something at him (she wasn’t sure what yet, but something along the lines of “You complete bastard, you scared the living crap out of me!” and then hug him tightly) but before anyone could do or say anything, two fiery strands from the Balrog’s whip shot up from the chasm below and wrapped themselves around Gandalf’s ankle. The old man cried out and slipped over the edge, clinging to  the groves in the stone.

Frodo had frozen in horror, but seeing his oldest friend about to plunge to his death he screamed the worst hoarse scream Emma had ever heard. Gandalf just hung there, staring at them wild-eyed and clearly scared himself.

“Fly, you fools.” he breathed, before deliberately letting go and falling after his last foe.

Emma screamed along with Frodo and Snow, launching herself out of David’s restraining grip and running to the bridge, desperate to find a way to save their leader, their friend. Maybe he was still clinging to the edge somewhere, just like she had earlier, or maybe she could use her magic to levitate him out of the emptiness. She didn’t know how, but the urgency and the shock that was coursing through her veins right now somehow told her she didn’t care: he was dying, and she was the only one who could save him.

But before she could reach the bridge itself, a strong hand wrapped around her arm and forcibly stopped her. She turned away furiously to slap the interferer, but Hook seemed to have foreseen that reaction because he blocked her blow with the vambrace of his hook (which, curiously, was not on it).

“Swan,” he told her in a hoarse voice, “there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing any of us can do to save him. He’s gone, love.”

Emma involuntarily let out a sound somewhere between a snarl and a sob but largely stopped struggling. She looked back at the abyss as Hook dragged her behind him, absently noting that more goblins were shooting arrows at the fellowship, and that was in fact a very good idea to leave.

She followed him and the others as they ran out of the mines, finally reaching a gate where she could see sunlight streaming in. Sunlight! After five days in near-total darkness! But she barely noticed it, nor did she take any note of Legolas shooting four goblin sentries as they rushed out. They sprinted down a crude flight of stone stairs at the foot of the mountain and finally came to a halt five minutes later amidst a clump of large stones and a small stream.

Nearly all collapsed on a rock, sobbing or clutching their head in their hands, beside themselves with grief and shock. Snow was sobbing in David’s shoulder, while he stroked her hair slowly, an expression of grief and utter despair on his face.

Hook stared into space as his mind processed the unbelievable: Gandalf had left them. He was dead. Sure, he hadn’t especially liked the old man (he had never gotten used to those piercing eyes of his), but he had been a good chap and Hook felt quite sorry he was gone. His eyes searched for the Swan girl: she was the one to worry about. By the looks of it, she’d been ready to jump after the wizard if it meant it would save him. He shook his head. Silly lass. Despite all she had suffered, she hadn’t quite gotten what death meant, and the finality of it all.

The tears had been running down Emma’s cheeks for a while now, so she was mostly spent as the others let out their sadness. But she put an arm around Merry, who was fiercely holding a sobbing Pippin. Still somewhat numb after all the events down in the mines, Emma stroked his curls consolingly, reminded once more of her son. The hobbits, when they were carefree and happy, were quite adult-like, but in their moments of grief and fear, Emma was always inexplicably reminded of Henry. She hoped with all her heart it wasn’t an ominous sign.

Beside her, Regina slumped down on the rock, her face pale and drawn. No tears had streaked down her face, but her expression told Emma she felt Gandalf’s loss just as much as they all did.

Slightly apart from the group, Gold was standing alone, staring back at the gate of Moria, which was still just about visible on the mountain-face. Emma suddenly felt angry as she looked at him. She’d been wrong: she wasn’t the only one who could have saved Gandalf - Gold had magic too and he could have cast a perfect levitation spell! Or even conjured a rope, or sent a bird after him, or...or.... Or something!

But out of respect for everybody’s fresh grief and Gandalf’s memory Emma didn’t lash out at him. Subconsciously, she noticed just how she’d changed since coming to Middle-Earth: in Storybrooke, were she in a set of similar circumstances, she probably would not have hesitated to let out all her anger at him there and then. Emma wasn’t sure whether she liked that change or not.

Aragorn sheathed his last weapon and looked around his companions, who were scattered round him and in various degrees of heartache and trauma. He himself felt the dull ache of loss. Gandalf had been an old and true friend to him; many times had they travelled together on some quest or other. His heart ached now at the thought of having to disturb his companions in their misery, but as he scanned the mountain his sharp eyes caught movement and he had no doubt that the orcs of Moria would follow them as soon as they could. He sighed and called “Legolas, get them up!”

His elven friend looked at him in surprise. The grief was clear in his face too, although the nature of his kind allowed them no tears for such trivial matters in the world of mortals. Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder and extended a hand to Emma Swan to help her up.

Boromir rounded on him. “Give them a moment, for pity’s sake!” he argued, although Aragorn could see he too knew of the orcs about to pursue them.

Aragorn motioned at the plain around them. “By nightfall these lands will be swarming with orcs.” he explained in placatory tone. “We must reach the woods of Lothlórien. Come, Legolas, Boromir - Gimli! - get them up.”

Together the four warriors roused their companions and urged them to continue walking. David got up with Snow and started walking, but he kept his arm around her, and Emma did the same with Merry. Regina was talking quietly to Sam and helped him rearrange the pack on his back. The queen, it was known, had a soft spot for the hobbits ever since the wave of affection the children of the Shire had shown her. She was always kind and helpful towards them, and Merry and Pippin had in her an enthusiastic audience for their antics.

Now, Regina was helping Sam up and turned to look for Frodo, who seemed to have distanced himself from the group.

She finally spotted him, a dozen feet away, looking on across the wilderness. When she called his name softly he looked back at her and she saw the tears in his eyes. Her heart clenched as suddenly she too likened him to Henry. Regina hadn’t understood Emma when she explained that seeing Henry had been the catalyst for her magic to explode, but now she did. The vulnerability apparent in the hobbits’ size, faces and personalities appealed to both of them - both who were mothers.

Regina suspected Emma only saw the physical resemblance between Henry and the hobbits, but Regina knew it was deeper than that. The link between Emma and her magic resided in the powerful emotion of love; that link was put to use not when Emma saw Frodo looking like Henry, but when she saw a small person she cared for in danger and in need of her help, as both Emma and Regina had witnessed Henry to be on more than one occasion. The queen contemplated this sudden realization, and wondered if such a situation would be enough for herself to get her powers back.

Regina walked over to Frodo and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. She lifted his chin slightly, just like she sometimes did to Henry, and ran her thumb over his cheek. His eyes, so wide and sad, made him look as vulnerable as a child, and as a mother she felt her heart go out to him. She gave him a small smile in which she tried to put all her encouragement, empathy and care.

Frodo, whether he understood this or not, touched her hand lightly and smiled sadly in return. Together they made their way back to their companions and the whole fellowship - minus one, now - urgently walked towards the green line in the distance which Aragorn had informed them was Lothlórien.


	13. Lothlórien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> Thanks to anyone reading this story: it means a lot!  
> I haven't made many notes so far, because I didn't really feel the need to, but please feel free to ask any questions if you have any. They can include any confusing bits about this story, or questions about the future plot, or anything, really.  
> So if you do like this, please could you leave some sort of comment? They actually really help with the writing of this, and I love knowing that my readers actually enjoy what I write.  
> Please read and enjoy : )

The Fellowship wearily carried on walking for the next few hours. It had been mid-morning when they finally escaped the clutches of Moria, and so by midday they reached the lake of Mirrormere as they trudged through the rest of Dimrill Dale. Gimli, being a dwarf and a distant descendant of the Father of all dwarves, Durin, could not go by and not gaze into its waters. The others didn’t protest. While they were all in a hurry trying to escape detection from orcs of Moria, they were grateful for an opportunity to rest: most of the companions were tired from the battle and still crushed with sadness at Gandalf’s death.

Mainly out of curiosity, Emma followed Gimli as he picked his way to the lake. Frodo also expressed a desire to see it, but Aragorn was holding him down firmly and forbade him to move while he was treating his injuries (Frodo, despite surviving being impaled on a large spear, unsurprisingly had black bruises all over his ribs and subsequently could not breathe very well).

The lake was large, deep blue and utterly still. When dwarf and woman bent over to peer into the icy waters, they saw nothing – not even their own reflections.

“Legend has it that after Durin the Deathless had awoken at Mount Gundabad in the north of the Misty Mountains, he travelled south until he came upon this lake.” Gimli said in reverence. “He looked down in it and saw a crown above his head, being the reflection of stars above, though it was day and the stars should not have been visible. Taking the crown as a sign, he founded the great city of Khazad-dûm beneath the mountains that fed Mirrormere.”

The dwarf peered more closely at the waters, evidently eager to see the celestial crown for himself. But the glare of sunlight on the water and the clarity of the lake’s water seemed to define the lake as perfectly normal, the exception being its stubborn refusal to reflect anything whatsoever.

Sighing in defeat, Emma and Gimli trudged back up the small hill next to the lake where the rest of the company were waiting. Passing an ornately carved and clearly strategically-placed stone Emma had not noticed beforehand, Gimli paused and ran a fond hand over the intricate patterns in the rock.

“This is Durin’s stone.” He explained to Emma. “It was placed here to mark the event of Durin’s coming. It was originally a pillar, but time and orcs have reduced it to the size it is now.”

And indeed, Emma could see the faded marks of bludgeoning and hacking amid the carvings on the rock. It suddenly made her sad – amongst all the other things that could make her sad, this was it – that orcs seemed to exist for the sole purpose of harming and destroying anything they set their eyes on.

After their brief rest, the companions set off again. Despite their fresh grief and tired limbs, they all notably felt better, aided by the scent and effect of the athelas Aragorn had used to bathe Frodo’s wounds. Whether the ranger had known that his actions would benefit the whole of the fellowship or not, the effect of the miraculous plant was little noticed but much appreciated.

Leaving refreshed, the fellowship started again towards the woods of Lothlórien. While they had made good progress, they still had a long ways to go before they could reach its safe borders.

At sunset, the fellowship finally stepped into the quiet, golden woods, grateful for the fragrant shade provided by the huge trees Aragorn had called mellyrn. The floor of the forest was soft and easy to walk on, but it was also surprisingly clear of any debris and fallen leaves. They had left Rivendell at the start of winter, and they were now well into the bleak season, yet the tall trees which surrounded them all sported large, healthy-looking golden leaves.

Emma looked up in wonder as she gazed around her. The trees were taller than she’d ever seen them, and the whole forest bathed in a sense of such fragrant calm that for the first time since before they had entered Moria she felt almost serene despite her weariness.

“It feels magic.” Snow breathed as she revolved slowly on the spot, awestruck at the sheer size and beauty of the scene before them. Like Emma, she seemed to have forgotten her sores and exhaustion.

Gimli harrumphed in response.

“Aye, that it is, lass.” he growled. “They say that a powerful elf-witch lives in these woods, and that she ensnares any who trespass upon her with her beauty. Don’t ever lay your eyes on her or she will put you under a spell.”

At the front of the company, Aragorn sighed, and Emma could practically hear him roll his eyes.

“Yes, master Dwarf.” the ranger agreed with - was it the others’ imagination? - a sarcastic drawl to it, “The Lady Galadriel is an elf, she is powerful, and she is most fair to look upon. But if she does put a spell on you, it will not be one you will begrudge, I can assure you.”

Emma exchanged a glance with Regina: this woman sounded like she had a few points in common with the Evil Queen. Magic, status, beauty, and the ability to enchant any who came across her.Emma doubted this Lady Galadriel had as black a record as Regina, but it would certainly do to stay on her guard around the Lady elf, never mind how much Aragorn praised her.

As for Regina, she was wondering if this supposed witch could help her get her powers back. If someone in Middle-Earth could acquire power even when they belonged here, surely it meant there was a chance she could retrieve her own, especially as she’d already gained them once - albeit in another land.

Gimli, however, did not heed Aragorn’s words so much as glance at him. He hefted his ax a little higher and adapted a decidedly more warrior-like stance.

“Well here’s one dwarf she won’t ensnare so easily,” he informed them darkly. “I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox...hoh-”

Emma looked at the dwarf curiously to see what had halted him in his tirade when she suddenly noticed a very sharp and very close arrow being pointed at her face. She froze, and out of the corner of her eye she saw and felt the rest of her companions do likewise.

Emma glared at her attacker. It was an elf. He and his companions (for about a dozen elves now surrounded the fellowship with drawn arrows and taut bows) had stepped out from the dappled shadows as silently as leaves falling from a tree - had leaves actually fallen from said bloody trees in this place, Emma reminded herself bitterly. Quite why she was bitter, she didn’t entirely know, perhaps it was to do with the fact that she was exhausted, sad, hungry, and her small toe had a blister. And, she’d lost her only hair-band in the frenzy of battle earlier. Curiously, the last bit annoyed her most, as now she was doomed to have her blown into her face all the time.

She wanted a rest. And a little respect wouldn’t come amiss either.

Legolas had been the only one who had reacted in time when the patrol of elves had come up on them, but even as he aimed his arrow as steadily as the rest of his kin he realized that there was no realistic chance of self-defense. Lowering his bow slightly and noticing how close some of them were to making sharp remarks at their attackers with no pretense at politeness whatsoever (namely Emma, Hook and Gimli), he called out in elvish to one of the elves.

The elf in question -tall, fair-haired and somewhat surreal, like the rest of his kind - stepped forward with raised eyebrows and a considerably confused expression on his statuesque features. Emma would have smirked at the sight had she not been busy going cross-eyed at the lethal-looking arrowhead about to enter her brain.

“Legolas Thranduillion,” he stated, addressing the Mirkwood elf. “You are known to us. Mae Govannen, nosse-nîn. But what is the prince of Mirkwood doing with human and dwarven companions in the woods of Lórien?” The elf shot Gimli a verging-on-nasty glance. “The dwarf breathes so loudly we could have shot him in the dark.”

Next to him, Emma stared at Legolas in surprise. Royalty? Him? It kind of seemed obvious in his bearing and elegance, but then all elves were graceful. She wondered vaguely what he would think if she “accidentally” let slip that she was technically a princess, too.

Gimli visibly bristled, but wisely held his tongue, which may have had something to do with Snow firmly clasping his shoulder in warning. Instead, Aragorn stepped slightly forward and started talking quickly and quietly to the elf who had spoken. The latter listened intently with his brow furrowed, and when he shook his head at something the ranger said Legolas joined Aragorn in trying to convince the elf of their innocence.

The trio conversed rapidly in elvish while Mary-Margaret clung onto David’s arm and Emma glared at her attacker, who remained stoic. Hook, however, merely looked bored  - the whole situation seemed to not have impressed him in the slightest. Quite understandably, all things considered. After a rampaging Balrog and witnessing the death of a powerful wizard - nicely sandwiched between fighting orcs - a bunch of elves with pointy sticks seemed quite harmless, really.

Gold and Regina both kept a wary eye on the arrows pointed at them, but remained silent. It was an example of how much more subdued Regina had become that she stayed silent in such a situation. Granted, she no longer had access to her powers and so could not fry the elves with a fireball anymore than she could levitate a feather, but the Regina her U.S. companions knew would have undoubtedly started to argue, threaten or charm her way out of such situations.

As it turned out, it was probably a good thing that she did not: after a couple of minutes of quiet but intense conversation, the elf - who seemed to be the patrol’s leader - gestured to his companions to lower their weapons. The elves of Lórien did so in unison, and at a word from their leader all but two melted back into the dappled golden light of the woods. Emma tried to follow them by sight, but found it surprisingly difficult: the light seemed to play trick on her eyes, and by the time she had blinked sufficiently to clear her vision the elves had disappeared.

Their leader introduced himself as Haldir, and the two remaining elves as his brothers.

“You must forgive our rigid seclusion,” he said, gazing at each of the members of the fellowship in turn, “these dark days have called for tighter control of our borders and a greater number of patrols.”

He turned on his heel and motioned for them to follow. “Once you reach Caras-Galadhon you will be safe, but even in these safe glades there is danger to be found. We know orcs are pursuing you, and so tonight you will rest in the tellain.”

Emma opened her mouth to ask what a tellain was, but Aragorn shot her a warning glance and gently pulled her by the arm.

“Do not ask too many questions,” he whispered once the elves were as far as they could be without leaving the company. “You may be seen as a spy, or worse, a follower of Sauron.”

Emma ran that through her head a couple of times, puzzled. She understood the bit about spying, more-or-less - although she’d be a pretty crappy spy to ask stuff so blatantly - but she didn’t get the reference to Sauron. Since when did asking questions suggest you had a tendency to worship a badass warlord with a megalomania problem?

Sensing her annoyed confusion, Aragorn elaborated a little more.

“Wood-elves are more secluded than the elves we met in Rivendell.” he explained quietly, still wary of Haldir and his brothers. “They tend to be more suspicious than their kin - it is in their nature.”

Emma still thought accusations of following Sauron were a bit extreme to say the least, but she nodded and let it go.

Something still niggled her, though.

“So what are ‘tellain’?”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0

 

It soon became apparent what exactly tellain were.

The fellowship followed Haldir and his brothers for what seemed like an entirely too long while, in Emma’s opinion.

As it turned out, tellain were platforms high - very high up - in the trees called mellyrn. The patrol of elves had led the fellowship for about another hour through the dusky underwood before they reached a particular tree. It looked no different to the others as far as Emma could see, but as she craned her neck up to squint at the lowest branches (which were still fifty feet up) she thought she could see movement. It was fully nighttime now, and despite the bright moonlight, it was barely possible to see the leaves of the mallorn.

The movements in the branches above turned out to be more elves. They threw down a long, rope ladder.

Haldir held out the rope to Frodo, who was nearest.

“You must climb. Now.” he told him. “The orcs will be much nearer to us. Hurry.”

His words were enough to put the whole company on edge again. Emma saw Gimli fiddle with his ax a little before grumbling and putting it back into his belt as he too was handed the ladder.

Emma frowned, staring at the rope dubiously. She knew the elves were generally really good at their stuff, but she doubted that even they could make a (rope) ladder strong enough to hold five grown men, three women, four hobbits, an armour-wearing dwarf and four elves all at once. For the first time since before they had entered Moria, Emma’s thoughts strayed towards Bill the pony. She suddenly missed the kind old creature, but she supposed it was a good thing he wasn’t with them: four hooves were even clumsier than Hook’s single hand and hook when it came to climbing ropes.

Speak of the devil, Hook was shuffling somewhat suspiciously beside her. She glanced at him and saw a scowl on his face. He looked bothered more than anything else - although the elves prodding them in the back to hurry up so far hadn’t done anything to improve his mood. Hook kept glancing at the ladder, looking downright worried. Finally, Emma pitied him and asked him outright what the problem was.

He jumped a little, startled at the question. Emma didn’t know whether to take that as a sign of possible guilt, or just deep thought. She decided she didn’t care at present: her legs hurt too much. She wanted over and done with.

“Why are you looking like a Nazgúl just threatened to invite you out on a date?” she inquired tiredly.

Normally, Hook would have cracked at least a small smile at that - not that Emma did it on purpose, no, of course she wasn’t - but he merely shot her a glance that could have meant anything. He visibly hesitated to actually reply to her question, but in the end he just held out his arm to her - the one which usually sported his hook.

Except the hook wasn’t there.

Emma blinked at it, uncomprehending.

“What?” she asked, a nagging suspicion telling her she was being remarkably thick. She had a feeling she was missing something really quite important.

Hook seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“It’s not there,” he said slowly, stating the obvious and waving his stump at her. “I lost my hook in those blasted mines.” He looked and sounded thoroughly miserable at the loss of his latest limb.

Comprehension finally washed over Emma, along with a sense of guilt that she hadn’t gotten it before. She looked at him a little pityingly while the others bustled around the rope.

“And you can’t climb the rope one-handed.” she completed for him sympathetically. “You’d fall, especially with all the rest of us on it.”

Hook scowled and evidently tried to hide the extent to which that bothered him -whether it was fear, shame or embarrassment, she didn’t know - but nodded.

She touched his shoulder briefly out of compassion.

“I’d offer to carry you,” she said with a small smirk, “but I doubt that would work. Tell you what, though...”

She turned away from him slightly and whispered something to Regina.  From where Hook was standing, it looked and sounded like a question. The queen raised a skeptical eyebrow, but nodded in response to whatever Emma had asked her. Regina grabbed hold of the rope and started climbing, but Emma turned back to Hook and glanced pointedly at their self-appointed elven bodyguards.

“Do something that’ll distract them a bit.” she whispered to him.

He looked at her in mild amusement. Neptune’s daughters, that girl would always surprise him.

Improvising completely, he swaggered up to one of the elves and draped his arm around his new victim’s shoulder.

“Howdy, mate.” he crowed. “You wouldn’t happen to know where my spare sextant got to, would you?”

The elf’s stoic visage remained so, but something in his gaze told Hook he now had the being’s fullest attention. The elf opened his mouth and hesitated a fraction of a second too long before answering, clearly at a loss of what precisely a sextant was.

“I’m afraid I have not.” the elf replied politely.

Hook flashed his best pirate grin at him.

“Oh, no need to be afraid, mate. I’m actually quite cuddly when it comes to it.”

The elf now looked positively alarmed, and his panicky eyes darted around in search of his brother.

Hook took this as his cue to torment the poor elf a little further. No harm in doing the job well. Plus it was the most fun he’d had so far in weeks (not counting lobbing stones at random goblins in the caves earlier, which had been downright therapeutic).

Meanwhile, Emma sifted through the woodland debris at her feet with her shoe, surreptitiously looking for a branch of some sort. She snorted as she heard what Hook came up with as a decoy. She didn’t blame the elf in the slightest for shifting awkwardly - Hook was a flirt at the best of times, but here he was outright forward. And then he had to mention the word ‘sextant’, of all things.

After a minute or so, she found one about ten inches longs. Not quite a twig, for it was too thick to be called thus, but she was lucky it wasn’t any longer, or her idea probably wouldn’t work.

Emma glanced around guiltily. All four hobbits, Gimli, Aragorn, her parents and Regina had gone up. Gold was starting to heave himself up now, as well, and Boromir was patiently waiting for his turn. She didn’t have long.

Emma had a secret.

Unbeknownst to anyone, she’d been practicing. During the long hours of her watch in this journey so far, she’d practiced summoning the feelings her magic needed to bloom. Time and time again, she’d closed her eyes and opened her mind to the small, hidden place she now knew her powers were hidden. During the long darkness of Moria, especially, the love she felt for her child and family had been a comfort to her when she’d felt the shadows creeping closer to her - or worse, when she’d felt the Ring calling to her.

It was undiscussed but common knowledge that the Ring had been growing on all their minds lately. Everyone had been showing signs of the strain, Boromir and Gandalf especially. With the wizard it simply had meant a deeper scowl and a somewhat gruffer attitude than usual, but with Boromir it showed long-term physical effects: he ate little, slept less, had purple bags under his eyes which were red from fatigue and frequent rubbing, and snapped at anyone who spoke more than twice in a row.

The Ring pressed on all their minds, but when Emma wasn’t busy trying to deliberately direct her thoughts away from it, she realized just how ten times harder it had to be for Frodo: the little hobbit had it against his skin twenty-four seven, and yet he showed no more strain than the rest of his companions. Emma could only marvel at such willpower. But then, she supposed, the Ring possibly affected more strongly only those who had a great deal more to gain or lose: Boromir had a country he loved to defend, Emma had her son to find and her remaining family to protect, and Gandalf had great powers which the Ring would no doubt offer to develop.

And actually, Emma had powers she could develop as well - though thankfully thus far she’d had no need nor desire to use the Ring to do so.

Still, she hadn’t been practicing magic, per se, but certainly her ability to summon and maintain it. It had been hard at first. Regina had been right: most of it was due to concentration more than actual power. Of course, the latter came more easily as the user developed more control and greater confidence, but the most basic, initial step was to summon the magic to the forefront of her mind and keep it there.

Harder than it sounded actually, because magic - as Emma had subconsciously come to realize - was sentient. And of course, being able to tell when Emma wanted it to stay put in her mind, promptly proceeded to do the exact opposite - such was the reason why most beginners in magic utterly failed to summon the flimsiest wisp of it under pressure. It was like being told not to think of elephants, and then being unable to get a whole trampling herd of pachyderms out of one’s head.

The trick was - as Emma had subsequently learned - to deceive it. If she recalled a particular happy memory with Henry - or her parents - and concentrated on her exact feelings at the moment the memory had happened, the magic readily came with the memory. The next bit was the tricky part: in order for her to use the magic, she had to keep her mind calm and concentrated, yet relaxed too - detached, really. She had to pretend not to want to use it for the energy to fully occupy her mind. Once she was sure she had concentrated her happy thoughts to a maximum, she channeled the energy through to her body (usually to her hands, although she’d managed to light a small flame with her eyes once), then pooled the power into her palms, until the skin in her hands was shimmering with contained power.

At first, progress had been slow. The magic had almost always sensed Emma’s eagerness to use it, and had always fled before she could harness the power. However, as she practiced more and often, somehow magic had become easier to approach.

It was strange. At first, when Emma had used magic it had been out of sheer emergency: her instincts had done the work for her and left the magic do the rest - like when Cora had tried to wrench her heart out. Emma was quite sure she’d never considered blasting the witch thirty feet away from her, but it had certainly worked - even if she hadn’t controlled it.

But now magic was almost friendly. Emma was sure that, being sentient, it could also sense that she wanted to be friends, and not the control-freak Gold and Regina had always been with it. In fact, Emma was positive neither of them had realized just how sentient magic was: would they really have done all those things in their past if they knew that their chief method of crime was judging them for it?

But in the tentative - what? Friendship? Partnership? Relationship? - connection with magic Emma had through her still-quite-new powers, she was very much the lesser partner. It was bizarre, and also a little embarrassing, but she had a feeling that magic was conscious as well as perceptive - like a friend, but far more intelligent than her. A friend who knew everything there was to know, but never got impatient or angry.

Emma always felt stupid compared to magic whenever she mentally touched the threads of power who now came to her almost upon demand. But it was different, she supposed, after many days of thoughtful reflection. It wasn’t quite like knowledge, what magic had... More like understanding.

Something which most dark wizards needed to have a lot more of - especially when they had the powers of one such as Gold, Emma thought a little bitterly.

She flexed her fingers and placed a hand on the branch, closing her eyes and concentrating. She used to scrunch up her eyes and think very hard about what she wanted, but now Emma knew the better way to do it. She let her mind float to a stock of happy memories she’d summoned specifically for this sort of thing, and let the strange energy invade her mind. Once she’d nudged it into her hands as gently (it would be downright weird to say ‘politely’, even if she had a feeling magic could get uncooperative if pushed too hard, too fast) as she could, she ran both hands the length of the branch and bent it carefully.

Like play-dough, the solid wood followed the pressure of her fingers and obediently molded into the hook-shape she guided it into. She pinched one end to give it a reasonable point, while fiddling with the other to give it an attachment, before finally running a hand over the length of her artifact to get rid of the ridges or bark-groves from the woods, leaving it smooth and more like a sculpted piece rather than what had been a branch ten seconds ago.

Once she removed her hands and allowed the magic to retreat into the back of her mind, the hook she’d produced was once more solid, non-pliable wood - but it was very much a hook, and usable at that.

Grinning triumphantly, she concealed it from Boromir and the other elf in her hand and walked over to Hook, who was still happily making one-sided conversation with the now-sweating elf. Emma was evilly satisfied and amused to see that elves at least weren’t immune to awkward situations and culture-shocks - like they seemed to be to so many other things, such as stress, dirt and military inability.

Emma tapped the pirate on the shoulder.

“Got it!” she said brightly. “You must’ve dropped it earlier.”

She handed him the handmade-ish (alright, wooden) weapon and smirked as he looked at it incredulously. He even let his arm drop from the elf’s shoulder in shock - the latter of whom backed away quickly and hid behind his other brother, who looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Hook took the wooden weapon from her and stared at it in amazement, first at the object in his hand, then at its creator.

“You’re welcome.” she chirruped, enjoying his speechless state. It was rare any of them had managed to shut him up since the Shire.

Hook clicked the hook into the device on his arm. Surprisingly, and against all odds, it fit. Sure, it wasn’t custom-made and looked a bit crooked and out-of-place, but it appeared to hold well and didn’t wobble when Hook tested it.

“My thanks, Swan.” he said finally, voice a little hoarse from his lingering surprise. But the pirate-grin was back in an instant. “Shall we see to what uses it can be put, then?”

He waggled his eyebrows at her, clearly suggesting something, but Emma just rolled her eyes and stalked to the rope ladder. Firstly because she didn’t get whatever he’d just said - and frankly she didn’t want to know - then because the last person to have tackled the ladder was a good thirty feet above them, and time was precious.

But she halted for a second before she started to climb herself. Boromir was holding out the rope for her. He’d grown distinctly more polite since she’d saved his life in the mines, and she had both noticed and appreciated it.

She nudged his arm gently.

“Do me a favour, will you?” she muttered to him under her breath. “Start climbing before he does.”

Boromir shot her a look of confusion, and Emma rolled her eyes again.

“I do not want him looking up at my butt the whole way up.” she explained slowly and clearly, but still as quietly as she could. This was embarrassing enough without Hook actually getting what they were talking about and butting in - quite literally, she feared. “I know you won’t.”

The aghast look on Boromir’s face was enough to tell her that such a thought had never even occurred to him, so she smiled awkwardly in thanks and started to climb. Half a minute minute later, she felt the rope twinge as he too started to climb. She gave the ladder a faint smirk as she distantly heard him mutter about a “bloody woman” and “no sense of propriety”.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0

 

The company slept as best as they could on the tellan - it was spacious and of elvish-make, and therefore seemed to defy the laws of gravity, but it didn’t stop the trees from swaying slightly. Twice, Emma woke with a start as she felt the platform move beneath her, thinking she would roll or slip off.

The ascending of the ladder had happened well enough, although it had taken the entire fellowship plus their guards at least twenty minutes to get everyone safely up. Gimli especially had proven difficult, as he refused to relinquish his ax and shield even as he climbed onto the platform, which slowed the entire process.

Aragorn had spent a good deal of the night talking with the elves - at least, he referred to it as talking, to the rest it had sounded more like arguing. In the morning however, Haldir announced that he and his brothers would lead them the rest of the way to Caras Galadhon - whatever that was (Aragorn later told Emma and her companion quietly that it was the elven city of Lothlórien, home to the rest of their woodland kin and to their Lord and Lady).

Haldir once more handed the rope to one of their fellowship.

“We must get down as soon as possible. It is daylight now, and so we will be safe, but there were reports during the night of orc packs passing through these woods. No doubt the very ones which were tracking you.”

Emma blanched. After the mines, she had no desire to see those things every again.

“Won’t they attack us, then?”

Haldir looked at her strangely. His expression seemed to waver between courtesy and incredulity at what she said, but his tone and features were just as polite when he finally replied.

“Orcs do not venture in daylight if they can help it.” he explained. “Now that sunlight has risen again it is very unlikely they will attack, especially when they see my kin and I accompanying you, for they know better than to anger the Eldar of these woods.”

Emma nodded, pretending she knew what the ‘Eldar’ were but making no secret of her relief . She too made her way over to the rope. This time Boromir went before her, and as she saw him climb down from the ledge of the platform she noticed just how pale and haggard he looked: it appeared he had not slept in the slightest.

When it was her turn, Emma grimaced as she peered down in a an attempt to see the ground: she couldn’t. It was too far down, with too many branches between them. She sighed, clinging on grimly. At least at night she hadn’t been able to see just how high they were, but now there was no escaping it. She could feel her discomfort around heights coming back and messing with her senses.

At last, after much wobbling around on the same disturbingly-slender ladder, the entire fellowship managed to make it to the ground unharmed. By the time Sam finally touched down, it was clear the elves were nearing mental break-down. Emma was sure they could have descended the whole thing in less than twenty seconds.

Scratch that.

Less than ten.

They walked on, the morning light making everything seem more alive and joyful, despite the fact that the hobbits and David were grumbling about the lack of breakfast. Emma found herself silently agreeing with them when she felt her stomach rumbling several times in a few minutes: they hadn’t eaten since midday the day before, and for Pippin and Merry that almost literally equalled starvation.

The elves, noticing their grumbling, pointed out various plants and bushes as they walked: edible leaves which looked remarkably like laurel (but tasted like hazelnuts when Emma tried one out of pure hunger), small blue flowers with a light minty flavour, and tiny red-and-white striped berries which were more thirst-quenching than nourishing. The elves told the hobbits they could pick some on the way, but they must not stop.

Emma herself occasionally plucked a few leaves and berries, chewing on the way. She grinned at Snow, popping a few berries in her mouth. A slightly-fuller stomach did wonders on one’s mood.

“Plucking food from a garden? I feel like of one of Willy Wonka’s Oompa Loompas.”

Snow smiled tiredly. She too had dark purple shadows under her eyes, and unlike Emma the little food they’d eaten failed to lighten her mood.

“Oompa Loompas were the workers.” she said vaguely. “You mean one of those kids who win the golden chocolate, or something.”

Emma swallowed her berries thoughtfully.

“Tickets.” she corrected her friend. “They were golden tickets.”

Snow shrugged disinterestedly. Emma looked at her in surprise. It was usually Snow who was the optimistic, cheerful one of the company. That she should turn this antipathetic so early on said more about the company’s mood than hers specifically.

“You know I’m surprised you know about Willy Wonka at all, really.” Emma continued conversationally. “I mean, you barely knew about The Flash back in Storybrooke, or about Spiderman - or even Star Wars.”

At this, Snow cracked a slightly more cheerful grin.

“Henry told me about Willy Wonka.” she explained with a sadder smile. “He said that if grown men are that obsessed with sweets - even in fiction - then surely kids had the life-long excuse that they were only copying their role-models.”

Emma snorted. That sounded like Henry. “I suppose at the time he was wheedling you for some?”

“No, he already had the sweets. He was just trying to keep them.”

Both chuckled, and Snow fell silent. Mother and daughter walked together in united thought about their (grand)son.

“Sometimes I find myself  wondering what he’s up to.” Emma found herself saying softly after a while. “I’m thinking about how much I’d like to beat Aragorn or David at sword-fighting for once, and then suddenly there’s an image in my mind of Henry poking David with that wooden stick of his.”

She stared wistfully into the distance as Snow rubbed her arm sympathetically.

“But sometimes, a whole day goes by without me thinking of him.” she continued, her voice cracking slightly. “We’re just walking along, complaining about the weather and the lack of food, but I don’t even think about my son, who might be hurt, in danger, lost - maybe even dead, for all I know!” she cried, almost crying by the end as guilt gnawed at her heart once more.

“Why is it he’s not always on my mind, Mary-Margaret?” she asked her friend, gasping to stop the tears from running down her cheeks.

Where was all this coming from? A minute ago she’d been fine, joking about food and pop-culture, and now she was close to tears again. Emma Swan didn’t cry. She didn’t if she could help it, and very often she could.

“Why is it I can laugh and joke and chat when my son - my only son - has been kidnapped and taken from me. Why? Does it make me bad? Does it make me a bad mother?”

The two were at the back of the line now, with Haldir’s brother behind them but looking thoroughly unconcerned by the grief-shaken woman before him - or at the very best trying not to interfere.

Snow wrapped her arm around her daughter, making soothing sounds and whispering quiet nothings as her daughter struggled with the flow of tears and despair that was threatening to burst out of her.

“What if he’s dead?” Emma choked out, letting out all that had been tormenting her in Moria. “Regina’s his true mother: she looked after him for ten years. What if I’m not good enough? I’m his biological mother, and God knows I love him, but what if that’s not enough? What if he’s dead and I don’t know it because I wasn’t good enough for him?”

She was pouring her heart out, and she didn’t even realize it - she wasn’t even making much sense - but Snow seemed to understand. She stopped walking and pulled her daughter into a hug, rubbing her back and talking a low, sure voice which only a mother could have and Emma had always unknowingly yearned for.

“Listen to me: Henry is not dead. He’s alive, and he’s waiting for us to save him. Do you know how I know that? Because we’re his family. And in our family we always find each other again. Always.”

She pulled out of the hug and touched her daughter’s cheek, her eyes meeting Emma’s. And despite the fact Emma knew that eyes were a biological organ meant only for vision and the judging of distance, in that moment she could see everything she herself was feeling in her mother’s grey orbs. She saw love, she saw compassion, and most of all she saw determination.

“And as for you, you are my daughter. And I had to let you go at soon as you were born, like you did with Henry. And even though that curse erased my memories ten minutes later, I can say what I felt and lived through, knowing you were gone, is equal to what you’re feeling now. I know it hurts, I know the guilt that stays in your heart forever. And I also know you will find your son, just like I knew I would see my daughter one day - strong, beautiful and the best person I know.”

She cupped Emma’s face in her hand and rubbed her thumb over her cheek.

“Henry is alive. And we will find him.” she told her with such assurance Emma felt no choice but to believe her. “And you are his mother as much as Regina: you both love him, and you will both find him.”

Emma gasped out a long breath. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t completely manged to control the wave of emotions. A single tear trailed down her cheek and she closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. When she opened them again, Snow was smiling at her with all the warmth Emma knew her mother was capable of.

“And as for not constantly thinking about him,” Snow started again, more cheerfully, “we’re all human, Emma! Imagine thinking of nothing but Henry all the time - your head would crack with worry and obsession! In fact, Henry had better count on you taking a break once in a while, because if you didn’t you’d be a wreck - and physically quite unable to save him when the time came!”

Emma choked out a watery chuckle. Her mother’s clumsy reassurances for her guilt weren’t very realistic, but they were hers - so they’d be good enough for Emma, too.

Snow wiped the tear-track off Emma’s cheek with her soft hand, but before she or Emma could say anything else a voice called out to them.

It was Haldir, looking distinctly uncomfortable at interfering in this clearly private moment.

“My Ladies,” he told them apologetically, “we are nearing the borders of Caras Galadhon. We must ask you to wear blindfolds, for near none have ever freely wandered past. Least of all dwarves.” he finished rather nastily, turning his piercing gaze on the tiny red-haired mountain, who returned the glower.

Emma gulped quickly, embarrassed at having broken down so openly - and in public. She severely made a mental note to herself not to ever cry in the open like that again. If she recalled correctly this was the third time she’d let her guard down in Middle-Earth. Any more and she would be as vulnerable as the child she’d been when so many had abandoned her.

She allowed one of the elves to blindfold her, though she was highly uneasy at having to walk blindly in a completely unfamiliar territory. She heard some of the others protest: it seemed even Legolas had to be blindfolded, even though as an elf he had a perfectly legitimate right to walk freely. But because Gimli stubbornly refused to be blindfolded simply for being a dwarf Aragorn had sighed and said that the entire company would wear the blindfolds. The hobbits complied easily enough, but Regina clearly was having problems with having her sight robbed (Emma suspected she was being reminded too much of her near-execution, for which she’d been blindfolded) and Gold, being the paranoid git he’d been in Storybrooke, outright refused to wear it.

Emma heard David reasoning with him for a a whole minute before the wizard conceded, and even then she could still hear him grumbling for long after that.

“It is pity we are forced to abandon our sight to enter these parts of the woods.” Legolas said from somewhere to her right. “My heart has often yearned to gaze aplenty on the splendours of the Golden Wood. That such a sight should be robbed from me is a cruel blow to the heart.”

Emma ran that sentence a couple of time in her head to make sure she’d understood the elf’s archaic manner. She snorted a little derisively.

“You regret having to wear the blindfold because you won’t be able to admire the scenery?” she clarified.

“Yes.” he replied simply.

Emma snorted again. She didn’t know what to say to that.

“As long as we’re allowed our sight back afterwards, I don’t see any inconvenience about having to wear them.” Mary-Margaret pointed out reasonably.

Emma opened her mouth to answer but suddenly tripped over an unseen root and sprawled onto the floor in a dusty, blind and annoyed heap.

“I can.” she growled.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

At around midday, the fellowship reached a river. The fellowship was relieved of their blindfolds, and Emma sighed gratefully as she ran a hand over her itching eyes. She didn’t dare ask the elves what the river was called, remembering Aragorn’s warning the day before about asking questions. But she needn’t have worried.

When at last they stumbled past the trees to reach the edge of the river (well, the elves glided – nothing stopped them, not even brambles) Haldir proudly leaped on a boulder and gestured at the clear waters of the bubbling river.

“The Celebrant,” he declared. “Your company must cross it to reach the borders of Caras Galadhon. My brothers will aid us, but they will not go any further for they must return to their patrol duties.”

Emma squirmed internally, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Are we going to swim across?” she blurted. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at her. “What? I don’t see any boats.”

Haldir gave her a half-smile. If she was being particularly paranoid, she’d say he was mocking her.

“Nay, lady. The current is too swift for boats, and most of you would drown if you attempted to swim. Even my people prefer to avoid the water if possible.”

“Oh, can elves fly as well, then?” Emma snapped, tired of his vague answers.

For an answer, Haldir put two fingers to his lips and whistled to the other side of the river. The sound was sharp and shrill, and remarkably resembled a bird’s call.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, for a few seconds, nothing continued to happen.

Just as Emma had opened her mouth to voice her sarcastic amazement at such a feat, two arrows shot out of the trees opposite and lodged themselves with a very real thunk in bark too close to the fellowship for comfort.

Emma and Hook jumped out of their skins as the nearest arrow hit the tree, yelping in alarm.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” Hook shouted, clearly shaken but trying to hide the fright under righteous anger. Emma pushed herself off the tree she’d stumbled into and glowered at Haldir. She poked Aragorn in the ribs, scowling.

“Are you sure these wise-guys are on our side?” she muttered. “Seems to me they just tried to kill us.”

David chuckled as he came up to his daughter and placed a placating hand on her shoulder.

“Emma,” he told her, “it’s OK, don’t get over-excited-”

“Overexcited? No! I'm getting very calmly worried that someone might be trying to shoot me!”

Aragorn sighed and looked like he was trying to avoid the temptation of face-palming (it wouldn’t be very kingly). All the same, he couldn’t entirely hide his amusement: a small smile appeared on his face, as he silently pointed at the arrows which were still quivering with the impact.

To both arrows was attached a slim, smooth rope silvery in colour and slender in appearance. It didn’t look very strong, but by now Emma knew not to judge Elvish stuff by appearances. Haldir, still smirking at the expense of a blushing Emma and a thoroughly embarrassed Hook, tied the two ropes to a solidly planted tree near the edge of the river. The ropes were stretched one above the other, with about three feet between them. At a second whistle from Haldir, another arrow tied to a rope buried itself in the same tree, and the elf tied it another three feet above the middle rope.

Looking at the other side of the river, Emma and the rest of her companions saw two more elves stretching the ropes and tying them securely to another tree. The result was something that vaguely resembled a bridge, and the scowls on Emma and Regina’s faces said that they’d understood just how they were going to cross the river, and that they did not like it.

Haldir gestured at Aragorn and Legolas. They didn’t need any prompting. Legolas scampered across the lines without holding onto any of the others, and Aragorn followed immediately after, although he held onto the highest rope with one hand and stretched out the other to keep his balance.

Emma gaped at them silently, her mind absolutely refusing to even consider doing what they’d just done. She heard a gulp somewhere to her lower left and glanced down to see a very nervous-looking Sam who seemed to be entertaining much the same thoughts.

“Scared?” she asked him lightly. He nodded. “Me too.”

He peered up at her, blushing a little. The effect was strange: he looked like a doll with bright red cheeks on deathly pale skin.

“I can’t swim, Miss Emma.” he muttered. “If I fall, I’ll be drownded as fast as Bill could swallow an apple.”

Hook, standing nearby, was shocked.

“Can’t swim?” he repeated, aghast. “Well, mate. We’ll have to correct that very soon, won’t we? How about now?” he suggested with his pirate-grin.

Sam gulped again, clearly even more frightened by this sudden turn of situation.

“N-No, thank you, Mr Hook... Captain... Sir...”

Hook shrugged and sauntered to the bridge, from which Frodo and his cousins had just descended on the other side. “Your loss.” he called back to the little gardener. He also waggled his wooden hook at Emma and winked. She took it for  what it was: a message of thanks. There was no way he could have crossed the river without it.

Soon, it was her turn. She carefully stepped on the rope and grabbed the highest of the other two. Both wobbled alarmingly. Emma swallowed nervously. She knew how to swim, but suddenly that skill seemed insignificant as she stared into the bubbling, rushing waters below her.

She edged along the rope, and soon found it easier, in fact, to copy Aragorn’s method. By extending both arms she found it easier to retain control and move faster.

Determinedly not looking down for the rest of the way, Emma concentrated on moving her limbs accordingly. She managed to cross without wobbling too seriously more than once, but it was still a relief to land on the other side. Hook grinned at her.

“Finally found your sea-legs then, have you love?” he called out, and Emma was sure she could hear a double-entendre in there somewhere.

“Nope. River legs.” she replied curtly.

“I’m sure they’d work just as well.”

“Shut up.”

“Not a chance.”

Soon, everyone had crossed the river safely and they were ready to set off once more.

After hearing yet again that they needed to walk for another half-day, Emma inwardly groaned. She wasn’t a country-girl, much preferring to walk in a city or a park than trekking for hours in the country. In fact, while Emma sometimes admired Regina for her lack of complaint during the endless days of walking, she sometimes felt like she herself was at a disadvantage: the rest of her companions had lived their lives in the Enchanted Forest, they were used to rural environments and walking for days on end. Sure it wasn’t a habit, but at least it wasn’t a complete novelty for them. Emma remembered the journey from the Shire to Bree - an exhausting, painful, endless experience for her despite the lovely weather and the charming scenery.

Her body had hardened since then, of course (luckily), but she still didn’t enjoy walking from dawn till dusk. One night, she’d even quietly suggested to Gold that together they could perhaps conjure up a few horses, a carriage, or even a car!

Both warlocks had exchanged a look and rolled their eyes, no doubt disgusted by her lack of magical knowledge.

Gold had explained to her that conjuring living life-forms was a lot more complex than just wishing one into appearance. It had to be summoned, transported, or was simply not living and only enchanted to give an illusion of life. Emma had petulantly replied that she didn’t care if a horse was alive for real or not, as long as it could bear her weight and put an end to her aching feet and swollen fingers.

Regina had chuckled then, and agreed with her, but maintained that for the sake of keeping their magic secret and avoiding awkward situations with zombie horses or carriages appearing out of the blue, they should simply put up with the walking.

Emma had sulked somewhat, but really she’d known all along that conjuring methods of transportation was a no-go.

At last, when the sun had started to set and the light had taken on that gilded quality which had given the Golden Wood its name, Haldir halted them all on top a hill and pointed to a clump of trees in the distance.

“Caras Galadhon.” he announced, pride oozing from his voice and features like honey from a beehive. “The heart of Elvendom on earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light.”

Emma glanced wearily at Aragorn and Legolas, who were gazing at the hill before them as though struck with wonder. She in turn stared at it, although in place of wonder was skepticism and... well, disappointment, really. She expected the ‘heart of Elvendom on earth’ to be somewhat more majestic.

If only she’d known.

The fellowship entered the copse of trees just as night fell. The trees themselves had seemed pretty normal from their vantage viewpoint earlier, but now that the fellowship were at the foot of them they realized that these specific trees were the tallest they had seen yet, and quite possibly ever would.

But as they walked through, and up, Emma took back everything she’d said and thought about Lothlórien which didn’t do it justice. The place truly was amazing. The trees weren’t just shelter for the elves, they were the very foundations of the city: staircases spiraled up around them, tellain and platforms linked them together, and elven homes could be spotted amongst the elegant balconies, sculpted passages and twining wreaths of ivy. In the dappled light of the woods and of the rising moon the effect was spectacular. Emma stayed speechless the whole way through and was too wonderstruck to even grumble about the endless amount of stairs they had to climb.

At last, Haldir led them to the largest tellan yet which ascended to yet another flight of stairs. The Fellowship approached it and stared in awe at two of the fairest elves that any of them had ever seen. It was obvious to all of them that they were the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel. Hand in hand, the two elves stood up and lightly descended the stairs to greet their guests. Half of the Company bowed their heads in respect, while the others were too amazed by their beauty and aura of surrealism to move. Celeborn had the lightest color of hair; so light that it could have been silver. He wore fair garments of silvery-grey and white, and his face showed no signs of age, except for his eyes, which betrayed the many centuries he had lived. Galadriel, however, had golden hair to her waist and was clothed completely in white laces and silks. She also showed no signs of age other than her eyes, which were a deep blue with stars glittering in the depths of the pupils.

Celeborn greeted each one by name. He first greeted Aragorn and Legolas, whom he seemed to know well. Gimli, Boromir, and the hobbits were greeted accordingly, and they all bowed when he said their names. He then addressed Emma and her parents, whom he also seemed to know by name (he called her parents ‘David’ and ‘Snow White’, which they all found deeply unsettling). His eyes lingered on Gold and Regina, and while he greeted them cordially his gaze seemed more guarded. Lastly, he greeted Hook, who stood rigidly with his hand clasped at his belt and his jaw set. Emma could see he was uncomfortable, and she had to admit that she was finding the elf’s gaze a little unsettling herself.

Celeborn smiled at Hook, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Do not fear us, young mortal.” he told him kindly. “None will harm you here, and the danger you fear will not occur as long as you keep your heart and mind open.”

Hook’s eyes widened and an incredulous look crossed his face before he nodded curtly in thanks and bowed slightly to the elf. Emma looked at him curiously. What had the elf meant? What danger? How could he know anything about it?

Celeborn returned to his lady wife and faced the fellowship, his kind features having turned grim.

“The enemy knows you have entered this realm. What hope you once had in secrecy is now gone.” His eyes met Emma’s for a split second and she had the sudden feeling he meant more than just the secrecy of their quest - did he mean their magic as well? “Fifteen set out from Rivendell, yet only fourteen do I see here.” He remarked calmly. “Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him.”

His lilting voice fell to silence as he surveyed the sad-faced company, all too miserable at the sudden mention of their fallen comrade to answer him.

For the first time, the Lady Galadriel spoke. Her gaze was fixed on Aragorn’s face, and she knew of the wizard’s fate.

“He has fallen into shadow.” she whispered, her voice musical and as deep as the blue of her eyes.

The company stared at her in awe, and Emma especially: this lady elf either had telepathic abilities or spies following them. Most likely both.

The ranger nodded in confirmation, and Legolas spoke, his voice a little hoarse with sadness.

“He was taken by both shadow and flame.” he explained. The lady turned her gaze on him. “A Balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria.”

Celeborn inhaled sharply and Galadriel closed her eyes briefly in sorrow. But she opened them once more and fixed the fellowship with her clear stare.

“Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life.” she told them comfortingly. “We do not yet know his full purpose.”

She turned to Gimli, who looked crestfallen at the further mention of Moria. She smiled at him kindly.

“Do not be troubled by the emptiness of Khazad-dûm, Gimli, son of Glóin." He looked up at her as she continued. "For the world has grown full of peril, and in all lands love is now mingled with grief."

The Lady Galadriel then turned to Boromir, who almost immediately looked away. He was shaking slightly, and so pale he looked ill. Emma shifted uncomfortably, the lady’s habit of staring into their very soul starting to seriously creep her out. Gold had once told her that some wizards managed to develop some sort of mind-reading abilities which required steady eye-contact, and she had a feeling this wasn’t far off from the powers Aragorn had hinted Galadriel possessed the day before.

At last however, the lady released the Gondorian from her penetrating gaze and faced the entire fellowship.

"What now becomes of this Fellowship?" Celeborn asked them, his grave tone matching his grim feature. "Without Gandalf, hope is lost."

"The Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail to the ruin of all," Galadriel said solemnly, but smiled slightly as she glanced at Frodo. "Yet hope remains while Company is true. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace." She stopped speaking and looked at each of them, some for a longer time than others. Lastly, her eyes met Emma’s once more, and to the astonishment of the latter she heard a clear voice in her head.

_Welcome, Emma Swan. You have been awaited._

Finally, they were dismissed.

 


End file.
